A Mercenary Romance
by Cecilia1204
Summary: Sansa Stark is a successful romance novelist who is sent cryptic instructions to a lost family relic by her kidnapped father. Travelling to Essos, she enlists the aid of a bad-tempered ex-mercenary soldier, Sandor Clegane, to help her find the relic. Sparks fly as they try to decrypt the clues before Ned's time is up.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hi again! Welcome to my new story which is based on one of my favourite movies, Romancing the Stone. Because Sansan and RtS are a match made in heaven :). Hope you enjoy it**

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Prologue

He ducked into the only open door he could see in this stinking alleyway, strewn with rubbish, uneaten food and what looked and smelled suspiciously like urine and faeces.

Maybe there was another exit out of this alley through the building that would give him some valuable time. Enough time to get back to his vehicle and drive like a maniac to the nearest airport.

Eyes adjusting slowly to the dim light, he grimaced when he took in its occupants.

He'd entered a run-down, filthy bar catering to the lowest and poorest members of the population, not unlike the dives found in Fleabottom.

The patrons were what you would expect – underworld types, drug dealers, thieves, murderers, most likely, and the poor, unfortunate women who catered to their whims and desires. In this gods-forsaken town, it was to be expected.

Despite his dirty, dishevelled appearance, he knew he stuck out like a sore thumb in this place. Still, they didn't look the types to ask too many questions.

He just needed an out before his pursuers found him.

Striding briskly to the bar, avoiding all eye contact with patrons that eyed him suspiciously as the outsider he was, he summoned the barkeep's attention.

"What'll it be?" asked the barkeep, his large gut showing the stains of many spilled beers and spirits on his dingy shirt. "Cash only. We don't hold with no fancy cards here."

"I'm not after a drink. Is there another way out of here? Other than the alleyway?"

The barkeep looked at him warily before smirking. With all the criminals that frequented this town, it stood to reason that no building was without some sort of alternative exit.

This stranger screamed money, despite his appearance, and the barkeep wondered what he was doing in this town and if was worth shaking him down. It would only take a nod to certain people in the room and this fancy wanker would be minus his money, and probably his life. A wad of bank notes was discreetly offered before he could decide.

"It's yours if you tell me how to get out?"

Ah, fuck it! "Go through the door behind the bar. You'll see a barrel on the floor. Move it and there's a trapdoor underneath. It'll take you out through the sewers 'till you come out near the old temple." He reached out his hand as he spoke.

"Thank you."

Without another word, Ned Stark handed over the cash and raced to the back room. As instructed, there was a barrel in a dark, dingy corner which he hastily moved to reveal the trapdoor. It opened surprisingly easily and he had to wonder how often it was used.

There was a metal ladder which led down into a dark tunnel and smelled absolutely gross. With no other choice, Ned climbed down, splashing down at the bottom. He didn't even want to think about what he was stepping in.

His pursuers, Tywin Lannister's henchmen, would be upon him soon if he didn't get a move on.

And if they caught him, he didn't want to think what might happen.

His life's work, quest really, was in danger if Tywin caught him. After spending most of his adult life looking for the ancient relic belonging to the Stark family that was stolen all those centuries ago, he had come so close to finding it here, in this remote, backwater of Essos.

That the relic was an invaluable, one-of-a-kind artefact that museums throughout Westeros and Essos would salivate to have wasn't a factor for Ned Stark.

He had grown up on tales of the villainy committed against his family during the War of the Five Kings. How a trusted ally had turned traitor and stolen it when Ned's own ancestor had ridden to war, leaving his family and home and subsequently losing his life. How it had subsequently been lost for generations, with no known trace of it.

And how Ned Stark had studied archaeology specifically with the aim of finding his family heirloom and restoring it to its rightful home.

The heirloom, an ancient Valyrian steel dagger embedded with a blood-red ruby shaped as a dragon's egg in its hilt, given to his ancestor Torrhen Stark by Aegon after the ancient Wars of Conquest as a reward for bending the knee and not going to war against the Targaryen conqueror, would be considered priceless. There were less than five examples of Valyrian steel left in the known world. It was impervious to fire and no other metal or material could damage it. It maintained its razor sharpness regardless of its treatment and a sword could behead a person with one blow.

The Stark's dagger, called Wolfsblood, after the Stark sigil and in reference to the ruby, was also said to contain magical properties as it was crafted by the ancient smiths of Valyria who were said to be able to imbue their blades with the ability to both take life and to heal, according to the holder's wishes.

Ned was somewhat sceptical about the healing bit, but even without it, the fact of its rarity, beauty and historical significance made it an object to be lusted after by collectors of rare and precious antiquities.

Collector's like Tywin Lannister, who ran Lannister Corp and was insanely wealthy.

Somehow, Tywin had become made aware of Ned's interest and active search for Wolfsblood and had contacted him.

Historically, the Lannisters and Starks had been enemies for centuries. They had gone to war against each other, tried to bring the other family down and more recently, maintained a mutual antipathy. As prominent families of Westeros, they were occasionally thrown together at official functions, where a polite distance was maintained. Friends they weren't.

Hence, when Tywin had met with Ned and put forth an offer to fund his search and proposed that he pay an inordinate sum of money for the dagger if and/or when Ned found it, Ned had laughed in his face. If he found the dagger, it was not now, nor ever, to be up for sale. He would even put a caveat in his will that all future generations of Starks were prohibited from ever selling it.

Needless to say, Tywin had not taken the rejection well and had turned to more underhanded measures to get the dagger.

Including sending people to spy on Ned, in hopes of getting information to allow his own people to reach the dagger first.

Ned had spent the last three years playing a cat and mouse game with Tywin's stooges, always just one step ahead.

Until now.

At first, the threats had been ignored but they were now much more serious. He had been threatened with his life if he didn't lead them to the dagger.

Ned Stark just couldn't do it.

He had sacrificed so much for his quest. His family, his holdings, a normal life.

He wondered how his long-suffering wife put up with his frequent absences, always under the guise of going to archaeological digs. Ned had not disclosed the nature of his search, at least, not his obsession with the dagger, in order to protect her and their family.

The family that had grown up without him for large chunks of their life. He had missed birthdays, weddings and feast days as he chased yet another lead, always justifying it in his mind that he was doing this for the family's legacy.

His brother, Benjen, had been running the majority of the Winterfell holdings and family business in his stead for years, for which Ned was forever grateful. Benjen had a head for business and the Stark family's net worth was double what it was when Ned had inherited it from his father as a twenty-two year old.

And now, after finding the final piece of the puzzle, he was so close to obtaining the dagger when he noticed the tail placed on him by Lannister.

There was no way he could travel the final distance with the Lannister goons on his tail. And he needed to destroy his writings. If they got hold of his diary they would soon work out where to go, taking the dagger and probably killing him in the process.

It nearly killed him to burn everything in the bathtub of the seedy room he'd taken. The only consolation was that it was all in his head anyway. All these years of searching, it was practically engraved on his brain. And he'd never talk, even on pain of death.

If they got him, death was a very like outcome, so he needed to get this information to one of his family, so they could recover their heirloom in his stead if necessary.

After thinking over his options, he decided to send the information to his oldest daughter, Sansa. For a number of reasons.

Ned wrote her a long letter, explaining what he'd been doing, along with instructions on the whereabouts of the dagger and how to get there. In case it was intercepted, his instructions were cryptic and he included a hand-drawn picture of the exact location, making sure not to include any identifying landmarks. He trusted that she and the family would puzzle it out.

He also insisted that the family did not come after him, under any circumstances, no matter what. He could not risk their being used as tools to blackmail him to reveal the location of the dagger.

Shaking off his tail long enough to post the letter, he was soon found again, hence why he was now in this stinking sewer, running for his life, probably.

His breathing loud and heavy in the dankness, he gulped as he felt rats scurry across his feet. Needing to follow the walls with his fingers in the darkness, Ned grimaced in disgust as he touched endless amounts of slime and decided if he got out of this, he would stand in a shower until it ran cold.

Ned thought longingly of his wife, Catelyn, and mentally apologised for all he'd put her through. He had to see her again. He'd get out of this somehow.

At last, the sewer opening came into sight around a bend, with enough dim light to allow him to let go of the wall. He hastily wiped it on his trousers as he ran for the exit.

Looking out for his pursuers, Ned cautiously exited the sewer into another alley. This ancient town was full of them.

He needed to work out where he was and then get to his car and drive to the airport. He'd charter a plane to get him out of Essos. Ned may not have his dagger but at least he would know it was still hidden from the Lannisters.

Turning a corner, he felt the cold, metal barrel of a gun dig right into his spine.

 _Fuck!,_ he swore internally.

"I don't want to kill you right here, Stark, but I will if you don't come quietly," growled a coarse voice in his ear.

"And risk the wrath of Tywin?" taunted Ned.

"Hmm, good point. I'll just have to shoot you in the leg, then."

 _Bang!_

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A/N: I post updates on my Tumblr: queenoferebor1204 . It's full of things I like but it is _slightly_ biased towards Richard Armitage. Just saying!


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Ok, folks, here we go!

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Chapter 1

Sansa Stark, successful romance novelist, independently wealthy and blessed with good looks, banged her head on her keyboard in frustration, resulting in several lines of fjdkfjdkfjdkfjdkfjkdfjkdfjdkfjdkfjlfjdfjfdkfjdkjg.

 _Writer's block is a bitch and she's busting my backside_ , thought Sansa in despair.

This had gone on for over a week and the most she'd managed to produce was 'she stared at his smooth, manly chest with desire'. Ugh!

"This is crap! Pure, unadulterated crap!" she scolded the screen, as if it were solely responsible for her lack of inspiration.

With a cry of exasperation, she pressed 'Delete' and watched the whole horrid chapter disappear. "Good riddance! It was shit. I know it. Margaery would know it."

Sansa was in the process of trying to write her fifth novel and it just wasn't working. Walking in the park, watching romantic movies, talking to her friend and editor, Margaery – none of it inspired her.

At 28, Sansa was considered very successful in her chosen field. Her last four romance novels had sold like hotcakes, particularly her last one, 'Florian's Defeat'. It had made number one in the Westerosi Romance Writers' Association's Top Ten list. She had the plaque in pride of place over her fireplace.

Her best friend, Margaery Tyrell, of Tyrell Publishing had taken her out for celebratory drinks and Sansa still couldn't remember all the details of that night.

She knew it was real when the royalties kept appearing in her bank account.

Sansa wrote under her pseudonym 'Alayne Stone' and she still found it hard to believe she had her own little fan-club. They called themselves 'Florian's Floozies', after the hero of all her novels, Florian the Fair, and they attended her book signings and events. They were made up of a variety of ages, from teenage girls to grandmothers, even a young man or two, and they were terribly sweet. Sansa had discovered that they even wrote fanfiction of her own fanfiction and was ridiculously flattered.

From the Westernet, they had found out she likes lemon cakes, and she would invariably be given homemade delicacies at each appearance.

Though she lived in Maidenpool, her literary agent, Brienne Lannister, booked her for appearances all over Westeros and even Essos on occasion.

When she had hired Brienne, Sansa's mother, Catelyn, had disapproved on account of Brienne being married to Jamie Lannister – one of _those_ Lannisters. Sansa had acknowledged that there was a lot of bad blood between the Starks and Lannisters, but had pointed out that Jamie didn't speak to his family and had been nothing but lovely to her. She also insisted that Brienne was brilliant at her job and had become a good friend and she was not going to fire her. Catelyn had been in a snit over that for a couple of weeks.

Which was one of the reasons Sansa chose to live in Maidenpool rather than at home in Winterfell, in the country's north. It was easier to ignore her mother when there were hundreds of miles between them.

Sansa always had a romantic streak, as far back as she could remember. Her siblings and cousin used to tease her for having her head in the clouds all the time, dreaming of her knight in shining armour.

She remembered her nanny, whom everyone called 'Nan', reading her endless stories of fair maidens and their courtly knights. As a child, she would roam in the woods with her brother's and sister and imagine a handsome knight would appear to rescue her from the evil monster that threatened. Her sister, Arya, would jump out from behind a tree and Sansa, lost in her daydreams, would scream in fright and have to listen to Arya's hysterical laughter. When she'd yell that one day her handsome prince would lock her in his dungeon in his castle, Arya would roar even more with laughter and threaten to chop his bollocks off if he did, much to Sansa's horror at her little sister's language.

Luckily, their relationship was much better now that they were adults, and Sansa missed her quite a bit since Arya had joined the army and was often away on deployment.

Despite her siblings' teasing, Sansa never lost her love of romance and chose to study Classical Literature at Maidenpool University. Catelyn had argued that the nearby Northern University was just as good, but Sansa had put her foot down. Other than Oldtown, the Library at MU was one of the best in the country and she felt she needed to gain some independence. Her father, Ned, home for once, had agreed with her, much to her mother's annoyance.

Sansa understood her mother's need to keep her children tied to her apron-strings, what with her husband away on his archaeological digs for so much of their marriage. Sansa sometimes wondered at the fact that they managed to produce five children. Obviously, they put the time he was home to good use.

Sansa had loved her time at university and when she graduated, decided to stay in Maidenpool. She loved the ambience of the old city, with its castles and ruins of stone, the numerous parks and walking trails, the waterfront and the quaint city-centre with so many good restaurants and cafes. The weather was a bonus too. She felt connected to the town.

Maybe it was because her mother's family had originated from the area, her ancestors once ruling over the Riverlands, or maybe it was because it was named after the protagonist of her favourite romantic tale, Jonquil, and her beloved knight, Florian.

Her first novel had come about when she decided she wanted to write her own version of the Florian and Jonquil story. It was supposed to be a short story which ended up as a swash-buckling medieval tale of Florian the Fair fighting foes and monsters to save his Lady Jonquil from the evil Lord who wanted her for his own.

Margaery, whom she'd met at university and had joined her family's company after graduation, read it and raved about it, eventually convincing her to publish her story. 'His Fair Maiden' became an instant success, much to Sansa's shock.

By popular demand, Sansa proceeded to write the next three books, all featuring Florian and Jonquil and all set in the ancient medieval era of Westeros, though they weren't sequels. Each novel had a new storyline.

It wasn't long before she began receiving fanmail and fanart of her stories, some of which she had framed and hung on her walls.

Margaery advised her that she needed to meet her fans and through Tyrell Publishing, she met Brienne, who was newly married at the time.

Sansa adored Brienne but when she first met her husband, she couldn't help gaping a little. Though a wonderful person, no-one could honestly call Brienne beautiful, though Sansa saw her own beauty in her friend. Obviously her husband, Jamie Lannister, thought the same as he was probably the handsomest man Sansa had ever met, despite lacking one hand which he'd lost in a horse riding accident.

While appearing to be nothing alike, Sansa could feel the love between Brienne and Jamie and it permeated all their interactions together. It was beautiful to watch and filled her romantic soul with hope that she would find own Florian one day.

So far, there had been more frogs than princes but Sansa hadn't given up.

Not that she had been actively looking for the last year since her breakup with Harry the Arsehole, whom she'd found out was having a child with his other girlfriend.

Florian would have to do in the meantime.

But at this point in time, even Florian was letting her down.

After getting a decent start on the novel, it just all came to grinding halt.

Sansa couldn't understand it. She'd had writer's block while writing her other novels but never like this. She just couldn't seem to shake it.

Had she lost her mojo? Did Florian and Jonquil not do it for her anymore? Did the mess with Harry affect her more than she'd thought? Was she secretly afraid nothing she wrote would ever reach the lofty heights of 'Florian's Defeat'?

She tried to write, she really did. She would sit at her desk, surrounded by her essentials: her pot of Oolong Tea, a plate of chocolate biscuits, her favourite pen, notepad and a fresh rose and she would take a deep breath, determined to knock out one chapter by dinnertime.

And day after day, the white page on the screen would stay white or else was filled with clichéd garbage that she'd delete in disgust.

Today didn't look like it was going to be any different.

Sansa looked around her apartment. She'd lived in it since university days and she loved it. She had enough money to get something bigger but, it was just herself and it was cozy.

 _Maybe I should get a cat_ , she pondered. _Let me see what kind of cat would suit me._

"Stop it, Sansa!" she scolded herself aloud. "You're just looking for excuses not to write, now."

She was just debating whether it would be worth it to take a walk down to the waterfront - maybe the sea breeze would wake her slumbering muse - when her phone rang.

Sansa had barely pressed the 'speak' button when she heard what sounded like hysterical sobbing.

"Hello?"

"S-S-Sansa!"

"Mum? What's the matter? Oh my gods, are you ok?" There were only the sounds of crying. "Mum? Calm down! Please! What is it? Are you ill? Is it Bran or Rickon? Jeyne?" Sansa's voice rose in agitation. She'd never heard her mother in this state.

"Sansa, they've got your father!"

"What? Who? What are you talking about Mum?"

Catelyn took a deep breath and with a shaky voice told Sansa what had happened.

"I just got a call from someone who claimed he had your father hostage and was threatening his life. Oh, Sansa, what are we going to do?" wailed Catelyn.

"Who's got him? Why would anyone want to kidnap Dad?" Sansa was beyond confused. Her father was just an archaeologist. Archaeologists didn't get kidnapped unless you were Indiana Jones from Raiders of the Lost Dragon Egg.

"Your father's been searching for years for a lost family heirloom. He thinks I don't know about it, stupid man, but it's some sort of knife or dagger that was given to the Starks centuries ago. It's worth a fortune, apparently, and someone wants it badly enough to kidnap Ned and threaten to kill him if I don't get the dagger to them by a certain time. But Sansa, I don't have the dagger! Neither did your father, by the sounds of it, or else they wouldn't need to make threats."

"Where is it then? Let's get it and give it to them," exclaimed Sansa in agitation.

"I don't know! Your father's been hunting it down for years. It's been like searching for hidden treasure. I wouldn't know where to start."

"Where was he last?"

"In Essos. He told me he was going on a dig somewhere in the Astapor region but I don't believe it. He was always cagey about where he went. Probably thought it was to protect me, silly fool," lamented Catelyn.

"Where on earth do we even start looking? Essos is a big place," cried Sansa, grabbing her head in consternation.

"And without the dagger…"

"Have you rung the police or something? Surely the law can do something about this?" asked Sansa. This was the twenty-first century, for goodness sake! People didn't just get kidnapped without repercussions.

"He said if I contacted authorities, then Ned was dead. And he's in Essos, remember. Their laws are different to Westeros. They're a lot more…backward…than us."

"We have to do _something!_ " insisted Sansa. She was running through her head anyone who could help them out.

There were times that Sansa felt a great deal of resentment towards her father, but she certainly didn't want him dead, especially over some relic that may or may not exist.

Ned Stark had been absent for much of her life, as well as her siblings' lives. She'd lost count of the birthdays he'd missed, the school graduations, even the family weddings.

Sansa could not reconcile the fact that her father preferred the company of long-dead people and artefacts over spending time with his own wife and children. She didn't know if she could have put up with it like her mother did. It was part of the reason why Sansa forgave Catelyn's somewhat possessive nature and her need to keep her children close. Her husband was hardly around and 'losing' her children must be tough. She'd been virtually a single mum, if you didn't count the nannies and staff at Winterfell.

"Have you told Robb or any of the others?" asked Sansa.

"I can't worry Robb. You know Jeyne's pregnancy is touch and go at the moment. He'd want to go searching and Jeyne needs him," replied Catelyn.

Her older brother Robb's wife had suffered a number of miscarriages before finally being able to carry this baby to near term. It had been a difficult pregnancy though, and Jeyne had been put on total bed rest for the last two months. The doctors hoped she'd carry until she was at least 30 to 32 weeks, giving the baby a good chance and Jeyne had managed to carry the baby to 34 weeks, so the birth could be at any time.

No, Robb couldn't leave his wife now.

"Arya's platoon is on deployment, as you know, and currently un-contactable. If she knew, she'd leave, even without permission, and she'd end up in military prison for desertion. You know she would."

"Yeah, she would," agreed Sansa. Arya was a hot-head who acted before she thought, especially when it came to her family. The army had been good for her in that respect, but it was still in her nature.

"I'll tell Bran and Rickon's too young to understand. I don't want to scare him," said Catelyn.

"I think you should tell them something, Mum. Especially Bran. He'll think you're treating him differently because of his disability. And Rickon's not a baby anymore. He's fifteen."

Her younger brother, Bran, had been injured in a car accident which severed his spine and was permanently in a wheelchair. He had shown remarkable strength to accept his disability and make the best of it. He'd taken up wheelchair basketball and was hoping to represent the North at the next Westerosi Games.

And her youngest brother was still seen as the baby of the family, much to his disgust. Sansa knew he'd be infuriated to be kept in the dark.

"I know. Sansa, I'm so scared," whispered Catelyn, in a voice Sansa had never heard.

"Me too, Mum. How long did they give you?"

"They wanted me to be there in a couple of weeks but I told them I have no idea where the relic is and I needed more time. I don't want Ned to be held for longer than he has to but how can I give them something I don't have and have no idea where to look for it?" wailed Catelyn.

"Where are you supposed to meet them?"

"He didn't tell me. He gave me a phone number to ring when I have it but warned that they're not going to wait forever. He even threatened to send me a piece of Ned if I didn't comply."

"Oh my god!" cried Sansa. "Did you ask them to prove they actually have Dad? This could be some sort of hoax to get money out of us."

"Do you think I'm stupid, Sansa? Of course I did. They put your father on the phone. He sounded like he was in pain. He started to tell me not to do something but they cut him off."

"Oh no!"

Sansa was horrified. How were they to deal with something like this? She didn't even know where to start. Her head was going around in circles.

Catelyn was saying something when a knock sounded at the door. "Hang on, Mum. I need to get the door."

There was a courier at the door with a small parcel. "Sansa Stark?"

"Yes, that's me."

"Sign here please." Signing his tablet, Sansa shut the door and looked curiously at the parcel, more an envelope, really.

She looked to see where it came from and gave a loud gasp. "Mum! Mum! It's come from Essos!"

"What has? Sansa?" Catelyn's disembodied voice rose from the phone she'd put on the table to open the envelope.

Inside was a folded letter from her father!

"It's from Dad!" Catelyn was yelling, reminding Sansa to pick the phone up again. "Sorry Mum."

"What does he say?" demanded Catelyn.

Sansa scanned the letter, the frown on her face growing with each word.

"Sansa? What does your father say?"

"He says…he says not to look for the dagger. Or him."


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for your comments - I really appreciate them.**

 **I wish I could put pictures up here as I have a picture of the letter that goes with this chapter. If you really want to see it, it's over at Archive of Our Own , under the same name and author. Alternatively, I did put it in my tumblr blog: queenoferebor1204.**

 **Hope you enjoy as the story picks up!**

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"WHAT!"

Sansa held the phone away from her ear as her mother ranted and raved about the stupidity of men in general and her husband in particular. She took this opportunity to read the letter over again.

 _Dear Sansa_

 _I have been searching for a lost family relic since before you were born. It is a dagger gifted to our family millennia ago by Aegon the Conqueror and subsequently stolen and lost. I have finally located it but have run into trouble. I send these instructions to its location in case I am unable to return. Someone in the family may be able to find it one day, when it is safe to do so. This is_ _NOT_ _to be shown to anyone outside the family_

 _From the first city, the mother of six must be followed north to her sorrow and beyond. Beware the dream crossing. On golden fields, the snarling dog rests besides its dagger. Within its jaws will be what you seek._

 _Please my darling girl, you MUST NOT come searching for me. Ruthless people want the dagger and will stop at nothing to get it. Keep this letter safe. Promise you won't come and promise you won't search for the dagger. Your mother is not to be told. I don't want her to worry._

 _NO MATTER WHAT – DON'T COME FOR ME!_

 _Love you, my lemoncake_

 _Papa_

 _xxxx_

Ned had drawn some lines (which looked a bit like a uterus to Sansa) that had an X marked alongside it. She assumed this was meant to show exactly where this dagger was hidden.

"How in the seven hells am I supposed to work out the location from these clues?" muttered Sansa.

"What was that?" asked Catelyn, who had finally run out of steam.

Sansa read the whole letter to her mother, who had no idea what any of it meant either.

"Obviously, we're going to ignore your father and go look for him," stated Catelyn firmly.

"Of course, Mum. But where do we start?"

Sansa read her father's cryptic clues over and over again. It was obviously somewhere in Essos, but where to start looking?

Other than the basic history and geography of Essos that she had learned in high school, she didn't know much about it. These clues related to places on that continent but there was obviously a starting point.

Which was what she needed to find out.

"Mum, can you go through Dad's office and personal items and see if you can find anything relating to the dagger? Letters, pictures, maps, anything. He might have left something there that might give us a starting point."

"Yes, I'll do that right now. I'll get the boys to help me, after I tell them what's happening. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to the library."

"Sansa! This is no time to read!" shrieked Catelyn.

"Mum! Seriously? No, I need to get whatever I can find on Essos. Dad's clues are specific but they're so cryptic. There has be information that will link to his clues. Like, 'from the first city'. That's obviously the starting point, but what city is it? I just don't remember enough of Essosi history."

Catelyn was quiet for a moment. "Sansa, your cousin, Jon's, friend. Remember him?"

"Which one? The tall, red-haired one?"

"No, no! Sam Tarly. The fat one who smiles a lot."

Sansa remembered back to Jon's wedding to Ygritte. "Yes, I remember. He was very sweet. What about him?"

"He teaches at Oldtown University. I think he's a historian, though I don't know what he specialises in. He might be able to help decipher…"

"Mum, we can't tell anyone about this! It could mean Dad's life!"

"Don't tell him everything. Just make out you're researching for your next book."

Agreeing it was a good idea, Catelyn rung off and promised to get back with Sam's number.

Sansa sat down and tried to clear her head. This was no time for falling to pieces. She needed to think calmly and logically if she was going to save her father. And despite what her mother thought, she was going on her own. As soon as she figured out where she was going!

Within minutes, Catelyn rang back, giving her Sam's contact details.

Not hesitating, Sansa rang the number and Sam told her he was more than happy to help. Arranging to meet the next day, Sansa hurriedly booked a flight to Oldtown for this evening, packing her laptop and a change of clothes and heading for the airport.

* * *

It had been nearly a year since the last time she'd come to this town, as old as its name stated. It had always been a place of learning, the current university a modern incarnation of the ancient citadel where maesters of times past studied their craft before hopefully joining one of the various houses of Westeros.

The town was a now a blend of old and new architecture as the population grew. The university primarily consisted of the old buildings and its library was in the oldest, most well-preserved one. It was renowned for its extensive collection of historical documents and employed an army of archivists to preserve and maintain it. It was here that Sansa had arranged to meet Sam.

Sansa couldn't help the thrill as she walked into the library. Knowing how old and how much history this building contained made her feel somewhat insignificant and a part of her would be happy to immerse herself in here for days, if not months.

But this was not the time.

"Sansa?"

Turning, she smiled at the portly young man who smiled affably at her. "Sam! Hi. It's good to see you. Thank you for agreeing to meet me at such short notice. "

"Oh, it's not a problem, Sansa. I'm most happy to help. What is it you're specifically looking into?"

"I need some information about Essos. I'm researching my new novel and I'm looking to set it in Essos but I don't know too much of its history other than what I learned at school."

"Oh, my Gilly loves your novels!" gushed Sam. "And if we can keep it between ourselves, so do I," he stated in an exaggerated whisper which made Sansa giggle.

"That's great. I'll make sure to send her copy of this one when it's written, and published, of course."

"She'll love that! Now, obviously the history of Essos is as vast as Westorosi history, so do you have a specific period or region?"

"I came across a phrase recently – 'the first city' - and was wondering if you would know which city it referred to? I've looked on the 'net, but couldn't really find anything." asked Sansa, mentally crossing her fingers.

Sam tapped his chin as he pondered her question. "Mm, 'the first city'? Essosi history isn't my forte, but I'm sure I've heard that term before. Let me dig out a couple of old books and see if there's anything there."

She followed Sam to a side room and waited at the table as he searched for the book. He came back with an armful of books which he placed carefully on the table. "Here we go. There should surely be something here. Not everything can be found on the 'net, you know."

"Oh, I agree with you," Sansa assured him. "I love books, as you can imagine. Just being in here is a thrill. You're very lucky to have access to it whenever you want."

"I know! I count myself as the luckiest of men," beamed Sam. "Here, you can look through these. If we both look, we might find something quicker."

There was silence, except for the flicking of pages, as they looked for that term.

"A-ha!"

"Did you find something?" asked Sansa excitedly.

"Here it is," Sam replied, pointing to the text. "'Volantis is the oldest, the first colony founded by the Valyrian Freehold in Essos after the Doom of Valyria. It is sometimes referred to as 'the First City'."

Sansa hugged Sam in gratitude, making the poor man blush to the roots of his scalp. "Sam, you're a marvel! Volantis!"

 _I have to get to Volantis_ , she thought. _And then what?_

There was still much to decipher in Ned's message but she, or rather, Sam, had figured out the first clue. Volantis. The first city.

With this information, it was a matter of working out the rest, but at least she had a starting point now.

Armed with a list of books of Essosi history that Sam recommended she buy, Sansa returned to Maidenpool after promising to send Sam's wife, Gilly, a handwritten note in the first print of her next book in gratitude.

* * *

Back in Maidenpool, Sansa quickly made herself something to eat before ringing Catelyn.

"Did you find out anything?" asked Catelyn as soon as she answered.

"Volantis. The starting point is Volantis. As for the rest, I'm still trying to figure it out," replied Sansa.

"I'll fly down if you book the flights, Sansa."

"Mum, it's best if I go on my own," she replied and waited for the explosion.

"There's no way you're going on your own!" protested Catelyn. "They have all sorts of ruffians and who knows what might happen. No, I'm coming."

"Mum, please. We're not supposed to be looking for Dad. The two of us will stand out like a sore thumb. A person on their own can be much more inconspicuous. My Florian, in my second book 'Hearts Afire' was able to sneak through the town undetected because he left his brother behind."

"This is not one of your novels, Sansa! You could get killed, or worse."

"Calm down, Mum. You're right. I'll need help but as you've never even been to Essos, I can't see what you could do. I'll ask Brienne. She knows people everywhere. Besides, what do you think Robb would do if you just up and left when his child is so close to being born? He'll ask questions and before you know it, he'll be over there, without thinking it through, and where will that leave Jeyne? Can't you see that?"

Catelyn sighed heavily. "Yes, you're right. But I'm worried. And I don't know how long we've got."

"I've been on the go since yesterday and I'm about to collapse. I'm having a short nap and then I'll call Brienne." Sansa bit her lip, hoping that was the end of that argument. "How did the boys take it and did you find anything?"

"As you'd expect. They wanted to get on the first flight out, of course. I calmed them down, I don't know how, and asked for their help. I didn't find too much except I think I may have found a picture of what the dagger looks like. There was a drawing tucked right at the back of his desk drawer and it was labelled 'Wolfsblood'. I'm going to send it to you."

"That will help. I'll call you and let you know when I'm leaving," said Sansa, before a thought struck her. "Do you think our phones are bugged? What if whoever has Dad is listening?"

"IF YOU'RE LISTENING, AND YOU HURT MY HUSBAND, YOU PIECES OF FILTH, YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO RUN FAR ENOUGH TO GET AWAY FROM ME!" she yelled.

Sansa jumped and held the phone away from her ear. "I think you put the fear of the gods into them, Mum."

"Good. But maybe we should be careful what we say from now on," she suggested.

"OK. I'm going now. Love you, Mum."

"Love you too, dear."

* * *

While waiting for Brienne to arrive, Sansa was pouring over the books she'd purchased on the way from the airport. She was trying to figure out who the mother of six could be.

It had to be someone who lived in Volantis but from what she could remember from the last time she was there, the Volantene people tended to have bigger families than Westerosi families, so that was no help. It would be like searching for a particular snowflake in a snowstorm.

Brienne arrived with her husband Jaime and was surprised when Sansa asked her if she had any contacts in Volantis.

"I have a lot of contacts everywhere, Sansa, but what do you need one for?" asked Brienne curiously.

Sansa hesitated to say too much, conscious of Ned's warning.

"I'm going over there and I'm hoping to meet someone who knows the area well and knows a lot about the history of the place," replied Sansa. "I…I'm doing research for the next book." It seemed simpler to stick to the same story.

"But I thought you already started writing," questioned Brienne.

"And she can't do more research, wench?" boomed Jaime. "It's her research that has made her books so readable and popular. You told me that yourself."

"Stop calling me that," Brienne muttered, slapping his thigh, to which he gave a mock groan of agony. Sansa giggled though she wondered how much of that was actually fake. Brienne was very strong.

"No, I suppose not," agreed Brienne. "When are you going?"

"Tomorrow, hopefully. I haven't booked yet."

Brienne's blond eyebrows rose in surprise. Sansa was not known for her impulsive behaviour. "What's the rush?"

"Oh, um, I've been having the worst writer's block and I'm hoping this trip will snap me out of it."

"My brother lives in Volantis," Jaime piped in.

Sansa's eyes widened with hope while Brienne shook her head. She'd known of a brother, the Lannister's were too prominent a family not to know about them, but he had dropped from the media radar a number years before.

"What? Tyrion's a good guy, wench. He'll look after Sansa," insisted Jaime before turning to Sansa. "My Brienne here isn't terribly fond of Tyrion. Thinks he's a smartarse, which he is, but he'll certainly help you out. If he can't, he'll find someone who can. Tyrion has a way of collecting acquaintances. He lives in Volantis with his wife Shae."

"Sounds great," enthused Sansa.

"And he's somewhat of a scholar. He's always been way too smart for me. He got all the brains while, alas, I had to settle for the good looks," he sighed dramatically, drawing another giggle from Sansa and an eye roll from his wife.

"So he'd know a bit about Essosi history then?" asked Sansa hopefully.

"I'd say so. He was always coming top of his class as well as being the class clown. Not that Father gave a damn. Always treated him like shit. Part of the reason why I don't talk to the pretentious old windbag," declared Jaime. "And because he didn't want me to marry my darling wench, here." Loving looks were exchanged between the pair and Sansa wanted to sigh, even amidst her difficult circumstances.

"Well, I'll certainly appreciate his assistance."

She had a flight booked to Volantis the next afternoon, so after Brienne and Jaime left, she raced around packing, which was difficult because she had no idea how long she'd be gone, what she should pack or even exactly where she'd be going in Essos.

Most of her clothes were city wear. Would that be suitable? If the relic was somewhere in the city, that would be great but in all the movies, these things are always in some remote, inhospitable place where no-one in their right mind would go willingly.

In the end, she packed her designer bag with as many different combinations of clothes as she could fit in there and hoped for the best.

"I'm going to find you, Dad," she whispered to the darkness as she lay in bed trying to get to sleep. "And when I do, you'd better hang around more than you have or I'll…I'll…I don't know what I'll do, but you better not leave us again."

Sansa wished she had a real-life Florian right now.

* * *

Opening one swollen eyelid after the other, Ned groaned as he struggled to sit up in the gloomy room he was being kept in.

Everything ached.

Tywin's goons had laid into him after they grazed his leg with the bullet. Luckily it wasn't too deep but it hurt like hell. They beat him up as well, hoping he'd tell them where the dagger was.

They gave up when he passed out, waking up in this room, a crude bandage around his leg, his eyes practically swollen shut and his body a mass of bruises.

They had interrogated him several times a day but had been unsuccessful. Ned Stark was a stubborn bastard when he wanted to be.

When they told him they'd contacted Catelyn and would send their people to get her if he didn't talk, he'd nearly given in. He was worried for his family. His only hope was to keep the dagger's location secret. Without him, they'd never find it but if Catelyn's or his children's lives were in danger…

Sansa should have received his letter by now. He hoped that she listened to his instructions and didn't come out here. At least the information would stay in the family, if they could work out the clues, of course.

The door opening interrupted his musings and he winced as he turned to see who it was. Ned hoped they weren't coming to interrogate him again. He knew he had at least a couple of broken ribs.

As the person entered the room, Ned's eyes widened in shock, despite the pain.

"You!"

* * *

A/N: We meet Sandor next. Maybe. Probably.


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you for the comments - I really appreciate them.

Sansa takes a trip to Essos and learns the answer to another part of the clue

* * *

Chapter 3

Sansa was feeling decidedly rumpled and weary as she stepped of the plane in Volantis. She couldn't wait to collect her luggage, grab a taxi and get to the hotel. It was after midnight here and she felt like she'd been travelling for days.

She smoothed out the material of her skirt and matching jacket, which had numerous creases, despite her best efforts.

On the plane, she'd continued reading about Essosi history in the hope that she'd figure out the next clue but had not had any luck as yet.

Sansa had also studied the drawing of the dagger her mother had sent her. They decided to communicate only by text, just in case. Sansa had also changed her number before she left.

Opening the picture as much as she could on her phone, she wondered how accurate the depiction was. It looked like a stylish, thin blade, with the guard being made of a dragon and a large egg-shaped ruby at the top of the hilt.

From her research for her novels, Sansa knew that swords and daggers were extremely vital to the people of the day. Her Florian always carried his own sword, 'Foe's Bane', everywhere and always used it in his defence of Jonquil. Yet, in this day and age, swords were just decorative and as much as the weapon was a historical item, she couldn't conceive that it was worth killing for.

She hoped that Tyrion Lannister would have an idea on who the 'mother of six' was and how to contact her. It had to be someone somewhat prominent, in Sansa's opinion. Why else would Ned use her as a clue?

Lugging her suitcase from the baggage carousel and clearing Immigration, Sansa exited into the airport waiting area, mind turned to finding the taxi rank.

"Miss Stark?"

Sansa, who was quite tall for a woman, turned her head to both sides and saw no-one.

"Down here, Miss Stark," drawled an amused voice.

Looking down, Sansa realised that Tyrion Lannister himself was smirking up at her.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, Mr Lannister. I wasn't expecting anyone," apologised Sansa, mortified by her gaffe.

"It's fine, my dear. I stopped being sensitive about my height at the same time I realised my father hated me because of it," replied Tyrion.

Sansa could not fathom how a parent could dislike their own child just because they were different. No wonder her parents disliked the Lannisters, Tywin in particular.

"Um…yeah. Are you picking someone up, Mr Lannister?"

"Tyrion, please," he smiled. "And may I call you Sansa?"

"Of course!"

"I've come to pick you up. My dear, sweet sister-in-law, who loves me so much, asked me meet you," he drawled, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "She must like you a lot if she deigned to contact me. I don't know why, but it seems I get on her nerves." The mock-baffled look he gave her made Sansa giggle.

She could see how straight-laced Brienne would find Tyrion slightly annoying.

"Brienne never said anything to me. I was going to contact you in the morning from my hotel," Sansa informed him.

"No need for that, we've plenty of room."

"Oh, but…are you sure? I'm a stranger, after all," asked Sansa.

"Nonsense! You're Jaime's friend, and though she'll deny it 'till the cows come home, Brienne and I are quite fond of each other. Come along, my driver's waiting."

At Tyrion's insistence, Sansa followed him out and in a relatively short space of time, was being driven up a driveway to a large white house that overlooked the sea. Being dark, Sansa couldn't see the view properly but she'd bet it was spectacular.

"Here we are. Home sweet home!" announced Tyrion as he got out the car, his driver opening the door for Sansa.

Before she had walked more than a few steps, the front door opened and she was engulfed in a whirling cloud of hair, material and perfume.

"Alayne Stone! I am _so_ happy to meet you! When Tyrion told me we were going to host my favourite writer, in my own house, I could not sleep for excitement. Alayne Stone, in _my_ house!"

"Shae, my love, don't smother our guest," drawled Tyrion

Sansa was released and faced with an exotic-looking woman, dressed in a colourful kaftan-style dress.

"Sansa, I'd like to introduce you to your attacker and your biggest fan, my wife, Shae. Shae, this is Sansa Stark, otherwise known as…"

"Alayne Stone. I know," interrupted Shae, taking Sansa's hand in hers. "Sansa, please forgive my excitement but I just love your books so much! I have read all of the many times but 'Beauty's Favour' is my favourite. And you are even prettier in person than in your picture."

"Good thing Florian is a fictional character or else I'd be a lonely divorcee by now," chuckled Tyrion.

"You might still be a lonely divorcee if you don't stop making fun of my Florian," retorted Shae with a laugh.

"It's lovely to meet you, Shae. Thank you for putting me up in your home," said Sansa, blushing at the sincere compliment.

"Pshh, if Tyrion had let you stay in some hotel room I would kick his tiny arse from here to Braavos. Come, come inside. I'll have your bags taken to your room. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you need anything?" she asked solicitously as she led Sansa inside.

"No, I'm fine. I ate on the plane. I would really love a shower, though."

"Of course! You poor thing, you've travelled a long way and it's late. Come, I will take you to your room. We can talk properly in the morning. Is that not so, Tyrion?"

Tyrion nodded hastily.

Sansa quickly got a sense of who was the boss in this household, though Tyrion seemed quite content to let it be so, smiling indulgently at his wife before wishing her goodnight and a good rest.

Shae led her to her bedroom, beautifully done in neutral shades of cream and beige. It looked cool and airy with large windows. Though it was evening, Sansa could feel the humidity in the air.

"I hope this is alright?"

"It's beautiful, thank you!"

"Please make yourself comfortable and sleep in as long as you want. Breakfast will be ready when you are. I hope we can talk a little more in the morning."

"I'm very grateful to you and Tyrion. I'd be happy to have a chat in the morning though I am on limited time and I'll need to speak to Tyrion," advised Sansa, wanting to let her know that she wasn't here on a relaxing vacation.

"Of course! A busy writer like you must be on the go all the time. I'll join you for breakfast and you can speak with Tyrion when you finish." With a slight giggle, Shae hugged Sansa briefly. "Alayne Stone in my house! Wait 'till I tell my family!"

With a chuckle, Sansa closed the bedroom door. Shae was very sweet and she wished she had more time to get to know her. Maybe once her father was safe, she could come back for longer.

She fell asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.

* * *

"Come through, my dear. We won't be disturbed in my office. Did Shae talk your ear off at breakfast?"

Sansa laughed as she settled into a chair in front of Tyrion's desk. "They are feeling a little sore, I must admit. No, Shae's lovely. It's so nice to meet someone who appreciates my work so much. I think she knew more about Florian than I did!"

"Oh, you are probably right about that, Sansa," retorted Tyrion with a chuckle. "I feel quite inadequate at times. How can I, a simple four-foot millionaire compete with someone like the dashing, handsome Florian?"

"I'm sure you have your own good qualities," remarked Sansa, grinning. "Either that or she married you for your money."

"Probably! But who cares! I get a hot wife, she gets a nice house. It's a win-win situation."

Sansa laughed but she could tell Tyrion was jesting. They seemed very happy together.

She marvelled at the difference between Tyrion and Jaime. Jamie, who was classically handsome while Tyrion, though not unattractive, would have gotten sideways looks most of his life due to his height.

And yet, they had both found happiness with their partners. Society would say Brienne and Tyrion got the better end of the bargain, but Sansa would venture that their spouses were probably the lucky ones.

Either way, here was another example that somewhere out there could be her perfect man.

And maybe she could look for him when all this was finished.

"So, what was it you needed to speak with me about?" asked Tyrion, bringing the conversation around to the reason she had come all the way to Volantis in the first place.

Sansa had mulled over how much to tell Tyrion. Her father had stipulated that she tell no-one but she had to tell him something to get the information. She decided to go for a less cloak and dagger version of the real thing.

"I'm currently researching for my book. It's going to be set in Essos. The gist of the story is that Florian is searching for a some relic he needs in order to save Jonquil's life. I like to make my stories as realistic as possible, so I want to actually go out into the wilderness as if I were Florian. I want to know how hard it would be, what are the dangers, distances, time taken, that sort of thing."

"I didn't realise that an author had to actually experience something to write about it," remarked Tyrion.

"Oh, they don't have to, not really. The 'net is a great resource but I like to be thorough. It adds to the story, I think."

"And how do you need my help in this?"

"I've only been to Essos for book signings, and that's only been for a day or two at a time, at the most. So, I don't really know anything about the continent. I've written out a sort of treasure map for my story, but I want to actually go out there and pretend I'm searching for it. Get out in the wilderness, camp, whatever. That way, I can take pictures of the flora and terrain, what have you. It will be incorporated into my story." Sansa was proud of the story she'd come up with.

Tyrion was looking at her like she was slightly mad. "That's a lot of trouble to go to for a book."

Sansa giggled nervously. "I know but it's how I like to work."

"So what do you need from me?"

"A couple of things. First, I've come up with a some clues Florian will need to follow in his search. I wanted to run them by you. See if you could decipher them. If they make sense. Jaime mentioned you are very clever and seem to know so much about everything."

"You flatter me, Sansa," smiled Tyrion. "But he's probably right. I am extremely intelligent. And modest, as you see."

Sansa giggled. "Yes, I can see that. The other thing is that I need a guide to take me out there. On my own, I'd get totally lost and a rescue party would have to look for me. Someone who knows Essos could ensure I get back in one piece. Would you know anyone who could do that?"

"Whereabouts are you planning on going?"

"Ah, I'm not entirely sure. It depends on my 'treasure map'."

Tyrion frowned in confusion. Her story sounded very dodgy, she had to admit, when she heard it aloud, as opposed to in her head. It sounded completely plausible then.

"A guide? I'll have to think that over. It's not something I've ever had call for. When do you plan on going?"

"Tomorrow?"

"You want to find someone to take you out into the wilderness, tomorrow, just like that? Something like this would take days to organise. You'll need food, equipment, the right clothing and whatever else someone needs to be safe. You'll be hard pressed to find anyone who would do it," warned Tyrion.

"I'd pay them well," stressed Sansa.

"Why the urgency?"

"I'm…I'm on a time limit. My publisher is pushing for this book and I need to get it done by a certain deadline or they might terminate my contract." _Sorry Margaery!_

"Someone who's sold as many books as you? That sounds rather harsh, even for someone who's father is Tywin Lannister," remarked Tyrion, eyebrows raised.

"Well…um…the publishing business is really cutthroat these days. There's so many new, brilliant writers coming in. I have to work hard to stay ahead," replied Sansa as earnestly as possible whilst mentally crossing her fingers.

"Very well, I'll see what I can find out but I doubt your chances," warned Tyrion.

Sansa nodded in understanding. "Thank you. I very much appreciate it."

"Now, you said you wanted my help with your 'clues'?"

"Oh yes! I'm wondering if you know of a person, a mother of six, who's maybe well known in this area?"

"A mother of six? There's probably thousands of women who have six children, Sansa. Can you be more specific?"

"No, not really. I'm trying to be cryptic and I've used some terms I've seen used but don't know what they mean. The first was 'the first city', which I discovered was a term used for Volantis in times gone by. Hence why I've decided to start my story, or at least Florian's search, here. The other term was 'the mother of six' which must be followed north."

"You found these terms, but not their meanings?" asked Tyrion sceptically.

Sansa bit her lip. Her story was unravelling by the moment. She had to give Tyrion a bit more without disclosing her real purpose.

"Whilst researching for 'Florian's Defeat', I came across an old puzzle in an obscure book in the library of Oldtown. It intrigued me so much that I'm basing the next story on this puzzle. Once I found out the puzzle is about a place in Essos I decided to set the story here, as I told you before. I'm hoping to decrypt it enough to see where it leads me."

"I see. And what's at the end of it?"

"No idea. That's what excites me. I have no idea if it leads to anywhere or anything. I just want to follow it."

Sansa could see that Tyrion was looking at her like she was touched in the head but decided to her humour her. "Tell me the puzzle and I see if I can assist you."

She told him only the first part, leaving out the bit about the dagger. It would be a dead giveaway that there was something she was looking for.

"'The mother of six must be followed north to her sorrow and beyond. Beware the dream crossing'. Mmm" Tyrion stood up and walked to his overflowing bookshelf. "'Mother of six'. 'Mother of six'." Reaching up, he grabbed a couple books and returned to the desk. "I sincerely doubt that the 'mother of six' is a literal person."

"Oh?" came the disappointed response.

"Well, no. If this was written a long time ago, then whatever 'mother of six' the author was referring to would be long dead, don't you think?"

"Yes. Yes, of course." _But what if she's not?_ It was only written a week ago, but of course Tyrion couldn't know that.

"I have a feeling the term refers more to a landmark or certain landscape. It could mean you follow a mountain range or a riv…" Tyrion's voice trailed off as a realisation came to him. "A river."

He stood abruptly and pulled over the sliding ladder before climbing it very quickly. Sansa watched him anxiously, hoping he wouldn't fall. He was small but probably heavy and she'd hate to have to try and catch him.

"Here we go. This might help," muttered Tyrion as he held the book towards her to take.

Settling back at his desk, he flipped the dusty book open and flicked through the pages, a puzzled frown on his face. "Yes, I thought so."

"What? What is it?" asked Sansa anxiously.

"The 'mother of six' is a river. The Rhoyne to be more precise. It says here that in ancient times, the river was known as 'Mother Rhoyne'. There are six tributaries that come off the Rhoyne and they were known as her 'daughters'. That explains the term 'the mother of six'. You need to follow the Rhoyne north. You have no choice, anyway, as the Rhoyne ends here as it flows out into the ocean."

"And the bit about her sorrow?"

"I don't know about that. It could mean following it to one of the numerous waterfalls that dot it or to a city or town. That could be any one of hundreds of towns as her tributaries stretch from nearly as far north as Braavos to past Qohor in the east, not to mention the hundreds of smaller tributaries that come off the Rhoyne."

"Oh." Sansa didn't have time to search every town from here to Braavos.

"Well, at least you know you have to follow the Rhoyne. The road follows it to the old town of Sar Mell, after that, it becomes rougher as it goes north," warned Tyrion. "Are you sure you need to go to all this trouble just for a book?"

"Yes. I know it sounds crazy, but I really do."

Tyrion nodded and shrugged his shoulders. "Very well. I'll see who might be able to go with you. Why don't you go and thrill Shae with your presence while I think on it. She'll treasure every minute she spends with 'Alayne Stone'."

"Thank you so much, Tyrion," said Sansa with the utmost sincerity. "I know I sound a bit crazy but I really appreciate your help."

"Ah well, Brienne would crush me like a mouse if I didn't," he joked as he ushered her from the room.

* * *

Sansa stumbled for the umpteenth time as the heel of her pump got caught in the cobblestone bricks which lined this somewhat seedy part of town.

She looked at the written instructions Tyrion had given her an hour earlier, apprehension on his face.

"He's the best bet you have, Sansa. He's out of work at the moment but he's very knowledgeable in the terrain of Essos and its dangers."

"Do you think he'll agree to go tomorrow?" asked Sansa hopefully.

"Uh, I don't know. He's a somewhat surly individual so it's anyone's guess. You can only ask and see what he says."

"Can I call him?"

"No, he apparently doesn't hold with technology. Doesn't want to be contacted unless he does the contacting," replied Tyrion with a frown.

"Is he trustworthy?" asked Sansa, sceptical about the suitability of this man.

"I believe so. He's rough and unsociable but he has his own code, of sorts. He's never been known to hurt a woman or child, though a few men nurse scars he's given them. If I thought he was a danger to you, I wouldn't even think to give you his name."

Sansa didn't have time to find anyone else who may or may not be able to leave with her at such short notice, which is why she found herself making her way towards the door at the furthest end of this row of terraces.

The cement of the narrow home was rotting and peeling away in places, leaving the bare brick underneath exposed, whilst the timber front door had long ago lost any coat of paint it may have once had, and was now a dull grey. The windows on either side were covered with the cobwebs of many generations of spiders whilst, what looked like sheets blocked any view inside.

Overall, not the most inviting place she'd ever had to visit.

Standing in front of the rather unkempt property, Sansa took a few breaths to shore up her courage.

 _Come on, Sansa. Jonquil was brave when she had to be, so you can be too. You need this person's help_.

She knocked on the door with determination – she hoped – and stood back awaiting a response.

A minute passed, then two with no movement. She knocked again and hoped he was home.

Sansa was about to knock for the third time, hand raised, when the door was opened abruptly.

"Who the fuck are you!"

"Uh, Sandor Clegane?"


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you for your kind comments. I'm glad you're enjoying it so far.**

 **Let's meet the ever-so-charming Sandor!**

* * *

Chapter 4

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Um…Sandor Clegane?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Mr…Mr Clegane, my name is Sansa Stark and I've come to make you an offer." Sansa cringed internally at how that sentence sounded.

The man at the door was the biggest human being she'd ever encountered, and she was 5'10" herself. He was also the meanest looking. And nearly half his face was covered in burn scars.

Sure enough, he didn't disappoint. "An offer, hmm?" he smirked lewdly, eyeing her up and down. "Not sure I can afford you."

Sansa gasped at the implication. The brute! _Your father, Sansa. Think of Father_. She mentally assessed what she'd chosen to wear this morning. Deciding to come across as extremely business-like, she'd worn a linen two-piece suit and short-sleeved silk top, in deference to the heat and humidity, paired with her heels. If the skirt was a little higher than her knee, it was because she was tall. Nothing about her appearance said 'sex-worker'. "Not, that kind of offer, sir! A business offer."

"If you say so. And I'm not a 'sir'," he spat. "What kind of business offer?"

Obviously, visitors to this man's house was somewhat of a rarity as she had attracted a number of curious stares, though no-one seemed brave enough to say anything. As much as the thought of entering this man's home was unappealing, Sansa didn't want to have their conversation overhead by anyone.

"Um…would…would we able to talk inside?" she asked nervously.

Sandor Clegane narrowed his eyes at her, the unburnt side wrinkling with suspicion, while the scarred side didn't move. It gave him a menacing air, which, coupled with his sheer size, made him somewhat terrifying.

"You want to come inside?" he asked slowly, as if to a child who didn't know what they were asking.

"Yes, Mr Clegane. I need a service from you and I was given your name as someone who could possibly assist me," she retorted sharply, annoyance colouring her tone.

"Who? Who gave you my name?" he barked.

"Tyrion Lannister."

"That little fucker! Why the fuck would he give you my name?"

"If we can go inside, I'll be able to tell you, won't I?" came the snarky reply.

Sandor looked at the girl, a hint of amusement in his eyes. Stepping back, he opened the door for her, giving her a mock bow as she passed him. Bastard.

Walking straight into the living area, Sansa took in the room at a glance. It was sparsely decorated. Extremely sparsely. All it contained was a television, radio and a recliner placed in front of the tv. There was a fold-up tray table next to the recliner, with a bottle of beer on it. Due to the sheets at the window, the room was rather dim, which barely hid the layer of dust on the few bits of furniture.

In one corner, to her surprise, were numerous books stacked nearly to the ceiling, at least three deep. And there was no dust on them. The man was a reader! Who would have thought it? The idea of one her books being in amongst that pile brought a faint smile to her face at the sheer absurdity of it.

The door closing pulled her from her musings and she turned to face Sandor Clegane, nervously holding the strap of her handbag tightly.

Without saying a word, Sandor stalked into another room, presumably the kitchen, and returned with a kitchen chair, placing it near the recliner. "Don't get many visitors," he mumbled as he passed her. "Here. Sit."

Taking slight offence at being spoken to like she was a dog, Sansa decided to let it go. It was obvious this man was as uncouth as they came, and manners were only a word to be found in book pile. She was thinking she'd made a huge mistake coming here but she was desperate and Tyrion had assured her Clegane was no rapist or murderer.

Taking a seat on the wooden chair, Sansa smoothed her skirt down as far as possible, crossing her legs at the ankle, as her mother had drilled into her and Arya throughout their childhood. Arya never did heed those lessons.

Clegane sat down on the recliner, grabbing his beer and sneering at her display of etiquette. He himself, lounged back, legs spread and looking for all the world as if he was going to watch his favourite show instead of talking to a strange female in his house.

"Now tell me why the little fucker gave you my name."

"Can you not call Tyrion that?" replied Sansa. "He's been very nice to me."

"Well, bully for you," he taunted. "Tell me what you want or get out. I'm getting bored with this conversation."

Oh, he was awful! Simply awful! How would she able to spend 10 minutes in his company, much less days? Assuming he agreed to her help her, of course.

"Mr Clegane, I'm a writer and I'm doing research for my next book. I need to travel into some remote parts of Essos and I'm looking for someone who's knowledgeable to be my guide. I'm hoping that could be you." She looked at him hopefully.

"A guide?" was the sceptical reply.

"Yes."

"Why the fuck would I want to be your guide? I'm not some tour guide that takes buggering tourists to pretty locations, putting up with their shit. I'm a fucking soldier!" he growled at her, leaning forward in his chair. "That Lannister prick has played you for a fool, girl. You want to see the sights? Book yourself one of those blasted bus tours!"

"I'm not a tourist! I'm not here to 'see the sights', as you put it! I'm looking for something that my family lost years ago and it's somewhere here in Essos and I need help to find it!" she retorted before gasping, aware that she'd said something she shouldn't have.

"So that 'research' bit was bullshit, was it?" he sneered. "I fucking hate liars."

"I'm not a liar. I am doing research while I search for our family heirloom. I'm willing to pay you well."

Clegane's face changed slightly at the mention of payment. Considering the hovel he lived in, Sansa was sure he could do with the money. "How much?"

"Twenty thousand?" Sansa had no idea how much this type of thing was worth. In her books, gold was the currency.

Clegane burst out laughing before taking another swig of his beer and Sansa took the opportunity to discreetly study him.

He must have been 6'5", 6'6" and was built like a bull. She estimated him to be in his late thirties. He wore an old, tatty t-shirt that was straining at the seams, his biceps threatening to burst the material at any time. The fabric was thin enough to mould to the muscles of his chest and torso, which were quite impressive, even to Sansa, who tended to favour slender men.

The grey jogging pants he wore were pulled tight in this position, and Sansa took in the oak-like dimensions of his thighs which led to down to his unclad feet. Lifting her gaze back to his face, her eyes strayed to the bulge between his legs, which the soft material faithfully outlined. Didn't he wear underwear? Realising where her thoughts had strayed, she hastily lifted her eyes to his face, feeling a faint blush suffuse her face.

Luckily, he was taking another drink and didn't notice where her eyes had ended up and she breathed a tiny sigh of relief.

His longish, dark hair was rather unkempt, and messily brushed over the side of the scars. She could see that the scars went up into his scalp, leaving no hair there, hence the comb-over. The other side, the unburnt side, had very masculine features, with his long nose, taught cheekbone and hard jaw, covered by three or four day old stubble. The stubble went as far as the burns, leaving another patch of scarred skin.

His eyes, from what she had seen, were a grey colour, and were actually quite lovely, surrounded by thick eyelashes. He only had one eyebrow, the other seemingly burnt off and the skin hanging slightly over his eye, looking as if it was melting.

She also noticed he was hairy. From his face, to his throat, his arms and even his feet, he had hair. Way too much testosterone, obviously.

Sansa supposed that without the scarring, Sandor Clegane would be considered attractive. To others.

He did nothing for her. He was nothing like her Florian.

"Go book yourself a nice little bus trip with your twenty thousand, girl, and stop wasting my time," his gruff voice pulling her out of her reverie.

"Wasting your time? Yes, it really looks like I'm wasting your time," she sneered as she looked around. "Obviously, drinking all day takes up so much of that valuable commodity of yours. You look so busy that you don't seem to have enough time to even dust the place."

The thunderous look on his face stopped her words. Sansa was normally the soul of diplomacy. Clegane seemed to bring out the worst in her! "I…I'm sorry. I was out of…"

"Fifty thousand."

"What?"

"Fifty thousand and you've got yourself a guide."

"Really?"

"That's what I said, wasn't it?"

"Oh...oh, well, um, great." Sansa was a little stunned that he'd agreed

"When did you plan on leaving and where are we going?" he asked, taking another swig.

"Tomorrow."

Clegane choked on his beer, spitting some of it in her direction. Sansa cringed in disgust as she felt droplets land on her face, wiping them off as quickly as possible with a tissue.

"Tomorrow?" he rasped, wiping his mouth with his forearm. So uncouth. "What the fuck?"

"Yes, I'm on a tight deadline, Mr Clegane."

"And where the hell are we supposed to be going? You still haven't told me that?"

"North. Along the Rhoyne."

"How far north? Where in the north? Why are you being so cagey about this?" he asked suspiciously.

"I…I can't tell you, but trust me, I need to head north. Tyrion said the road gets rough after Sar Mell?"

"Aye, it does. So I'm supposed to take you somewhere north, who the fuck knows where, and leave tomorrow. How the fuck am I supposed to prepare for a trip when I don't know where the hell I'm going?"

"I'll tell you more once we leave. I'll have to, won't I? I just needed your agreement to take me," assured Sansa.

"A hundred grand."

"I beg your pard…"

"When I agreed to the fifty, I didn't know about the rest of this bullshit, did I? No, so now I want a hundred grand for my services. For that, I'll carry you there, wherever 'there' is, on my shoulders!"

Sansa shuddered at the thought. "But that's so much money!"

"You want a guide tomorrow, then that's my price. Take it or leave it. No skin off my nose." With that he took another swig of beer. "Oh, and I want twenty-five tomorrow, the rest at the end."

Sansa bit her lip. Her family was rich but it was still a lot of money. But it was her father. What price his life?

"Ok, you've got a deal. I'll have the money transferred to you by the morning. Is that alright?" Clegane nodded. "What should I pack, do you think?"

He smirked as he looked at her clothes again. "Nothing as fancy as that. Princesses don't do well out there."

"I'm not a princess!" she retorted indignantly.

"Sure, girl. You've got princess written all over those fancy duds of yours. Reckon those shoes cost more than this place," he sneered.

"Wouldn't be hard," she muttered.

He face darkened at the insult. "We don't all have servants to clean up after ourselves, princess."

"I don't have servants! I live in a modest apartment and do all the cleaning myself, thank you very much." Sansa wasn't going to go into the fact that Winterfell had numerous staff. She didn't live there anymore, so it didn't count!

"Poor princess. Having to do her own dirty work," he mocked. "Just make sure you're wearing something suitable. Jeans, boots, whatever. We can get food on the way but we'll need to pick up supplies in Sar Mell if we're going to continue north. Backpack and sleeping bag are necessary. Not many fancy hotels up that way, princess."

Sansa fumed at his derision but chose to ignore it. He'd agreed to go with her and that was the main thing. Now she needed to talk to her mother, have the money transferred to his account and make sure she had the supplies she needed. She wondered if Shae would be up for a shopping trip today.

Standing up, she held her hand out. "Thank you, Mr Clegane. I'll make sure you have your money in the morning if you give me the details. What time should I be here?"

"I'll pick you up. Midday," he replied, taking her hand.

Sansa felt a shiver race through her at the contact of his warm skin. What on earth? Probably nerves, she dismissed.

"Uh, ok. Do you know where Tyrion lives?"

Clegane snorted. "Doesn't everybody? Not hard to miss 'the palace', is it? You must love it there."

"Don't make assumptions, Mr Clegane. You know nothing about me. Just give me your banking details and I'll get out of your hair," fumed Sansa.

Reaching behind him, he wrote some numbers on a piece of paper and handed it to her.

"Thank you. I'll see you at midday tomorrow." He started moving as if to get up but she held her hand out. "Don't trouble yourself, Mr Clegane. I'll see myself out."

Grabbing her handbag, she took the paper and with a last disdainful look at the unpleasant man, Sansa strode out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

She thought she heard sarcastic laughter behind her.

* * *

Sandor Clegane stared at the door the girl had stormed out of, a thoughtful look on his face.

What the fuck had just happened?

One moment he's watching a football game re-run, the next he's agreeing to take a strange, red-haired woman out into the wilderness for a hundred thousand dollars.

A hundred thousand dollars!

Sandor took another drink and thought about how much money that was. It would go a long way towards getting the family property, Clegane's Keep, back in his hands. Land that his fucking monster of a brother had gambled away before being shot dead by another member of the Westerosi underworld. No great loss to the world, as far as Sandor was concerned. If he knew who the murderer was, he'd shake his or her hand.

In fact, when he heard the news, he went to the nearest bar and got rip-roaring drunk in celebration, shouting everyone inside a drink.

Added to the money he'd saved over the many years he'd sold his services to every wannabe war-lord in this shithole, Sandor figured he could make an offer within the next few months.

And he could leave Essos for good. Return to the Westerlands where he grew up, despite the memories of the abuse he'd endured at his brother's hands, including receiving these scars.

Mercenary work paid well, better than the regular military, but it would still have taken him a couple of years to save up the amount the girl offered.

Well, 'offer' was a strong word for it.

He supposed he shouldn't have taken advantage of the desperation this Sansa Stark tried valiantly to suppress, but, she looked like she could afford it. What with her expensive get up.

Sandor's unkempt exterior and harsh ways hid an astute ability to read people. It had come in extremely handy during his 'career' and had saved his arse on a number of occasions when his intuition had warned him about this person or that person.

And Sansa Stark was definitely hiding something. This bullshit about 'research' didn't ring true. The relic she admitted to looking for had to be more than just a family heirloom. No-one agreed to pay a hundred thousand for a 'guide' just like that. And the fact that she didn't know exactly where they were going? Or for how long?

No, there was way more to this story and Sandor was going to find out what that beauty was hiding.

And she was a beauty, to be sure.

All red hair, blue eyes and legs that never seemed to end. Legs Sandor could easily imagine wrapped around him as he fucked her, her pouty mouth gasping for breath.

Sandor shifted uncomfortably in his chair as erotic images of Sansa Stark's mouth on his body caused the inevitable reaction in his groin. Looking down, he saw he was half-hard already.

Then reality crashed down at the realisation that she'd never deign to fuck someone like him. Not with the way he looked.

No, the Sansa Stark's of this world only fuck pretty boys who smelled like a walking pomander and wore only designer labels. He'd seen the type before.

And Sandor was not about to take what wasn't freely given, or at least honestly paid for. He never had. He never would.

He would happily kill some drug runner on command or the perceived enemy of his current boss, but he drew the line at hurting or raping women and children. In fact, he'd severely injured several of his fellow 'soldiers' when he'd caught them raping or attempting to rape innocent villagers. He'd even cut off the cock of a man he found molesting a young boy. He hadn't even given him the gift of mercy – just let the perverted fucker bleed out.

None of the other soldiers did a thing about it. They all knew what kind of fighter he was and they were all wary of him. They quickly learned not to attempt to hurt women when he was part of their group.

So Sansa Stark was safe from him. Though it would be hard travelling with her when she looked like that.

Still, watching her get riled up would provide a good source of amusement, he figured, grinning to himself.

And she at least had the guts to look him in the eyes, rather than his scars, as was the norm with most people he met. Usually after they first recoiled in disgust. If she felt it, she hid it well, to her credit.

"Better get things ready for tomorrow," he told the empty room. "Hopefully, I won't have to live in this hovel for long afterwards. The girl was right in that respect."

The image of a hundred thousand extra dollars in his bank account, as well as red hair and long legs accompanied him throughout the rest of the day.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter - road trip!


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: Sandor and Sansa prepare to leave Volantis while Tyrion has his own warning for Sandor. It's going to be rocky ride!

Thank you for your kind comments. They're very much appreciated.

* * *

Chapter 5

Sansa pushed the lid of her suitcase down, trying unsuccessfully to close it. She couldn't understand it – she didn't bring _that_ much with her. Ok, so she had added a couple of pairs of sturdy shoes, three pairs of jeans, an extra jacket (in case of chilly nights) and three extra tops to go with the jeans. She had even purchased some rain gear, as Shae had informed her that they were entering the rainy season and storms were common.

 _Bet that brute won't believe I came up with that all on my own_ , sniffed Sansa smugly as she thought of Sandor Clegane.

As she had been thinking way too much about the man since yesterday.

 _It's only because he's such an unpleasant person_ , argued Sansa with herself. _You've never met anyone like that before. Of course he'd make an impression, even a bad one._

And she was going to spend, who knows how long, with him.

In frustration, Sansa sat on the suitcase and managed to contort her body just enough to pull the zipper shut.

After she had left Clegane's house, the rest of the day had been a whirl of activity.

She texted her mother the information and had received numerous replies. She was somewhat surprised her mother could text that fast. Sansa would have preferred talking to her, but hesitated in case Catelyn's phone was bugged or something.

When she thought about it, it sounded like some improbable spy movie but the fact that her father was kidnapped proved these things could actually happen.

Catelyn had sent several angry emojis when told of the amount Clegane was demanding but acquiesced quickly enough, promising to have the twenty-five thousand deposited overnight. She had also urged Sansa to take care and check in every day, for her own peace of mind - the little she had left at the moment.

Shae had been thrilled to take Sansa into the shopping district of Volantis, showing her the best places to get her needs.

As per Clegane's instructions, Sansa had purchased a suitable backpack as well as a sleeping bag. The young man at the camping store had thought it was his lucky day to have two gorgeous women asking his advice on the best type of gear to get. Sansa had not been able to resist the pink sleeping bag, which the salesman had assured her had a very high warmth rating. She took his word for it as she had never camped in her life. She hoped that the sleeping bag was more of a precaution and that they would find motels along the way.

Then again, she didn't really know where they were going, did she? She really hoped she could figure out more of the clues as they travelled north.

When Shae found out who Sansa was travelling with and that Tyrion had given her the name, she rounded on her husband, spouting forth a torrent of abuse in her native Lorathi language. Sansa had no idea of what she said, though she could accurately guess and felt somewhat bad for Tyrion, who struggled to interject a word here and there in his defence.

"Shae, my dear, you know Clegane isn't one for harming women," argued Tyrion.

"And how many women who look our Sansa here has he met? Hmm?" Shae snapped.

"Look, I know he's somewhat, rough…"

"Rough! That's an understatement. He's foul mouthed with a bad temper!"

"Yes, but he's probably the only person who could help Sansa right now, Shae. He knows this continent better than he knows Westeros, most likely."

"Uh… Tyrion?" interjected Sansa. The bickering couple turned to her as if they'd forgotten she was in the room. "How do you know Sandor Clegane?"

Sansa was curious as Sandor had talked rather disparagingly about Tyrion that morning.

"Oh, we go way back," replied Tyrion. "His father worked for mine and we knew each other as children. Clegane – the younger – seemed to have a chip on his shoulder about our family's wealth, especially after 'the incident'."

"What incident?"

"When he got burned. I never found out exactly what happened but I believe his brother may have had something to do with it. I was only a child when it happened and my dear father would never deign to confide in me anyway, so I don't know the cause of his anger towards me, or our family, which seems one in the same to Clegane. I just know that he hates us. I don't take it personally."

"And you let this man take Sansa out there into the wilderness on their own?" growled Shae.

"It's fine, Shae," Sansa attempted to sooth the woman. "I'm paying him a lot of money, which he won't get if anything happens to me. I have to check in with my mother every day and if she doesn't hear from me…"

"You won't have phone coverage once you leave the main cities and towns," pointed out Shae.

"Oh!" Sansa had not thought of that. She kept forgetting that Essos was much bigger than Westeros and there would be areas where there was no electronic communication possible.

"I'm sure Clegane has equipment you can use," pointed out Tyrion. "Satellite phones, or the like. He's spent many years out there."

"Yes, yes of course," replied Sansa with a hint of relief. "I'm sure he knows what he's doing."

"Look Sansa, he's rough and uncouth, but Sandor Clegane has a reputation for being one of the toughest guys around. He's experienced in the wild and if you run into trouble anywhere, there's no-one better to have around."

Sansa nodded. She hoped there would be no trouble – find the dagger, take it to the kidnappers and get her father home – but this was completely new territory for her.

Florian had encountered many difficulties in her stories but they were just that – stories. Written from her comfortable apartment or favourite coffee shop. Not traipsing around a foreign continent with a strange man while trying to save her father.

But she could do this. She _had_ to do this. She had no option.

Now, she had five minutes before Clegane showed up to guide her into the unknown.

Sansa only hoped she survived the experience.

* * *

Sandor drove his black, battered pick-up truck up the driveway of Tyrion Lannister's mansion, his face contorted into a sneer.

He'd never been here before but he knew exactly what to expect and he wasn't disappointed. Another Lannister prick flaunting his wealth. Just like his fucking father. Rich, entitled cunts, the lot of them.

He guessed that Sansa Stark would be like the rest of them. She had that 'rich girl' air about her. But he wasn't about to turn down a hundred grand on principal.

The initial up-front payment of $25,000 was sitting pretty in his account. The girl was definitely serious about this.

Thinking over what he'd packed, Sandor was fairly certain he'd left nothing out. Patting his hip, he felt the outline of the gun he carried everywhere with him when out on a job. Essos could be a wild place, even in this day and age, and he wasn't about to take any chances. This was even more true outside the cities, where lawlessness was rife, hence his career as a mercenary.

If only he knew where they were going. It was crazy but she would have to give him something to go on soon enough.

Pulling up to a stop in front of the house, Sandor groaned as he watched the small owner step out of the front door and waddle towards his vehicle. He had hoped to avoid having to talk to anyone other than Sansa.

"Clegane!"

There was nothing for it but to get out and see what the little shit wanted. Unfolding his long limbs out of the truck, Sandor stood by the driver's door and waited for Lannister to come to him. No way was he going walk forward like a dog answering a summons by his master. Fuck that.

Tyrion marched his short legs until he stood a few feet away from Sandor and looked up. And up.

The difference in height would be comical to a bystander.

Sandor stood as tall as he possibly could, just to annoy the other man, a tiny smirk on his face as he watched Lannister strain his neck to meet his eyes.

"Clegane, I wanted a word with you," stated Tyrion, refusing to be cowed.

"Yeah? What about?"

"Miss Stark."

Sandor's eyebrow raised, a bored look on his face. "And?"

"I want you to reassure me that she will be safe with you."

"You're the one who gave her my name, so why are you so worried now?" growled Sandor angrily. "If you thought I'd hurt the girl, you'd never have done that. So now you're all worried that 'The Hound' will have his evil way with the precious princess? Fuck off."

"I've known you a long time, Clegane, so I know what your temper's like," pointed out Tyrion.

"And I go around hurting women on a daily basis, do I?"

Tyrion looked slightly shame-faced for an instant. "No, I know you don't. I know you have some sort of honour in there somewhere. I'm relying on that. If I could have given Sansa anyone else's name, I would have."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because I knew you'd be the only one available to go with her at short notice who wouldn't attack the girl first chance he got, that's why?"

Sandor was a little taken aback by the dwarf's admission of trust, grudgingly given. "Why the lecture, then?"

"Sansa's a gorgeous woman and you're going to be alone with her, out there, somewhere. I don't want you getting ideas."

"And if she gets 'ideas' of her own?" Sandor sneered. "I'm supposed to act like a choir boy? Not fucking likely."

Tyrion laughed snidely. "Like that will happen, Clegane."

Sandor had a nearly impossible to resist urge to toss the little prick over the cliff into the ocean for deriding the possibility of Sansa ever wanting him back due to his looks. As if the arsehole could comment on looks.

"Probably not. I don't have millions behind me making the thought of sleeping with me palatable, like some."

Tyrion's face darkened at the insult. "Insulting each other like children is getting old, Clegane, so we'll leave it at that, hmm? I will warn you though, if something happens to Sansa or if you hurt her, those millions you deride will be used to make you very sorry, indeed."

Bending down, Sandor glared directly into Tyrion's face. "Is that so?" Tyrion nodded sombrely. The two glowered at each other for several seconds. "Your runty little head can relax as she will be safe with me. I'm no rapist, as I'm sure you've heard. Besides, if anything happens to her, I don't get the rest of my money, do I?"

"And that's all you care about, isn't it?" sneered Tyrion.

"Says the arsewipe who's never had to worry about money a day in his privileged life. You rich bastards are all the same. You feel entitled to your wealth but scorn those who try to get it, by whatever means they can. Even when they need it more than you. At least it's earned, unlike yours."

"You have no idea about my circumstances, Clegane. That chip on your shoulder has become a boulder, hasn't it? Maybe it's time to knock it off there. Who knows, you might actually start resembling a human being!"

Sandor was about to retort with another insult when the door opened again and Sansa walked out, followed by the Lorathi woman who he knew was Lannister's wife.

Dressed in tight jeans, t-shirt and what looked like new running shoes, Sansa made her way towards them, dragging a purple suitcase behind her.

The way those jeans hugged her legs made Sandor's blood pressure rise. Those legs were going to be death of him, he knew it. He'd always been a leg man.

Pulling his gaze and focus off Sansa's legs, he watched as she struggled with the suitcase. Attached to it was a bright pink sleeping bag.

What the fuck? Pink? Was the girl serious?

Sandor smirked. She looked like she was going on one of those bus tours he'd derided her about the day before. This girl was as green at roughing it as he was as at applying makeup.

"Sansa! Here, let me help you," offered Tyrion, reaching for the suitcase.

Sandor leaned back against his truck and watched the show, an amused smirk on his face.

"Oh no, Tyrion! Thank you, but I can manage," protested Sansa, looking pointedly at Sandor. There was no way the dwarf would be able to hoist that into his truck. Or even pull it, most likely.

Did she think he was going to play the gentleman and carry her bags for her? Not bloody likely! And anyway, why was she bringing a fucking suitcase? If they ended up in the wilderness, good luck trying to lug that thing around. Sandor put on the most innocent face he could muster, which was not much, admittedly, and pretended he didn't know what she wanted of him.

With an annoyed huff, Sansa stopped in front of Sandor. Her blue eyes were sparkling with aggravation, making them even more compelling, a fact that he tried to ignore.

"Hello, Mr Clegane."

"Sandor."

"What?"

"You calling me 'Mr Clegane' is going to get old, real fast, princess. We're going to be spending a lot of time together, so you'd best be calling me 'Sandor'."

"Then you'd best be calling me 'Sansa', not 'princess'," she replied snarkily.

Sandor snorted in amusement. He looked down at her luggage. "Why the fuck do you have a suitcase?"

"Where else am I supposed to pack my clothes?"

"We're going into the wilderness, not cruising around the Summer Isles."

"I'm fully aware of that Mr Cl…Sandor. I'm the one who hired you, remember? I'll be fine with this," she reassured him.

Sandor felt a frisson of something run up his spine when she called him by his name but brushed it off. This whole situation was strange. "Suit yourself. Let's go. You can put your stuff in the back." With that, he turned and opened the driver's door, leaving Sansa staring at him in bewilderment. "Well, come on, then. You're the one who's in such a hurry she wanted to leave today."

Throwing him an outraged stare, Sansa wheeled her suitcase to the back of the truck.

* * *

With a grunt, and a little help from Tyrion and Shae, Sansa managed to get her suitcase into the back tray-table of the vehicle. Sandor's own backpack, as well containers containing water, she surmised, were also lying there.

"My goodness, this weighs a tonne," commented Tyrion as they pushed the suitcase further in. He could only do so much, but Sansa was grateful for his help. It was more than the surly owner of this truck was doing.

Her Florian would have dropped everything to help out a woman in distress. Florian was a true gentleman and knight.

Sandor Clegane was definitely not.

Even if she felt a shimmer of attraction as she saw him leaning nonchalantly against his truck, glaring down at Tyrion.

He had definitely cleaned up from the previous day. His stubble was neater and gave him a roguish air and his hair looked like it had been cleaned and brushed. Sansa couldn't help admiring the way his khaki trousers hugged his legs and hips, his black t-shirt doing wonders for that impressive torso.

There was something to be said for biceps that looked bigger than her thighs.

He could have looked grossly over-muscled, like a professional weightlifter, but he didn't. He just looked…manly.

"Hurry up, girl!"

Arsehole. If it wasn't for her father, Sansa would be on the first plane back to Westeros. Instead, she was stuck with him.

Hurriedly saying goodbye to Tyrion and Shae, Sansa climbed up into the passenger seat and took a deep breath before turning to him. "Let's go, shall we?"

With a curt nod, Sandor started the vehicle and pulled away as Sansa waved at her new friends.

"Get a good look, girl. You won't be sleeping in anything like again that until you get back," drawled Sandor.

Sansa faced him, a heated flush suffusing her face. "Stop calling me 'girl'! It's demeaning and disrespectful. I'm not a girl, I'm a woman. I'm also your employer and I demand you treat me as such. I'm twenty-eight, not thirteen, and have a successful career and I don't need someone like you trying to make feel like a kid. So stop it, or…or."

"Chirp, chirp, chirp," he drawled sarcastically. "Is this what I have to look forward to?"

If it wasn't for her circumstances, Sansa would have demanded he stop the truck, slapped him and stormed off, never to look at that hateful face again.

"I'll do a lot worse than chirp if you don't stop being such a douchebag!"

Sandor threw his head back and laughed. He laughed!

He turned to her, his grey eyes glittering with amusement and Sansa couldn't help thinking how lovely they were, a thought she quickly banished.

"Douchebag? I've been called many things before, but that isn't one of them, Little Bird. At least this trip won't be boring, not with you to provide the amusement."

Her gasp of indignation just set off another round of laughter, so Sansa twisted around towards the window, determined to ignore him for as long as possible.

It was going to be a _long_ trip.


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: Thank you for the reviews, follows and favourites. They're very much appreciated.

* * *

Chapter 6

The city of Volantis gradually receded into the distance as Sandor drove northwards.

Sansa had the window down and was enjoying the breeze blowing into the truck, especially now that they had lost the sea breeze from the coast and the temperature was rising noticeably.

Sandor watched her surreptitiously, especially when she passed her hand over her neck and throat, wiping off some sweat. He wasn't bothered by the heat, but then, he'd lived here for so long, and in so many circumstances, that his body was acclimatised to the conditions.

"I'll turn on the air con, if you want," he offered, throwing a glance her way. Sansa looked back at him, eyes widened slightly, as if he had offered to slay a dragon, or something. "You wouldn't be used to the heat here."

"Oh, um, no, it's fine," replied Sansa. "I like the breeze." She gave him a small smile. "Thanks."

Sandor nodded. It was probably the first smile she'd given him. Then again, he had been an arse to her. If he reacted to her smile like that all the time, though, he might need to continue being an arse to her. For his own self-preservation. Not that being an arse came unnaturally to him.

"Now that we're on the road, can you give me some idea of where we're headed?" he asked. "Or are we going to drive aimlessly until you decide it's time to go home? I know you're paying me a lot, but even I won't do this forever."

Sansa bit her lip and nodded. "I know. It's just that…I really _don't_ know."

"Are you serious? What in the hells are we doing then?" he growled in disbelief.

"I'm serious, but I'm trying to work it out. I have some vague directions and I'm sure I'll figure it out as we go. All I know for the moment is that we follow the Rhoyne north."

"And when it forks? Where to then?"

"Um, is that anytime soon?"

Sandor's one eyebrow raised in disbelief. "You really know nothing, do you?"

"I know a lot of things," she replied heatedly. "Just…just not about Essos. What do you know about Westeros?"

"A lot more than you know about this place," he retorted. "Pretty rich girl looking for trinket on a whim," he muttered.

"Stop saying that! It's not a trinket and it's not a whim. I _have_ to find it!"

"Have to?" There was disbelieving mockery in his voice.

"Yes, _have_ to," she snapped. "I wouldn't be here otherwise, you can believe that. I'd much rather be at home in Maidenpool." She glared at him. "And I'm not a 'pretty rich girl'."

Sandor smirked but didn't respond. They drove in silence for a while until they stopped for fuel. "If you're hungry, you can grab something while I fill up."

"Where are we stopping tonight?"

"I could drive straight through to Sar Mell but it would be late and the roads become unsafe in remote areas after dark. Pirates exist, Little Bird, and not only on the seas." At her astonished gaze, he continued. "Bands of criminals will stage accidents, block the road with trees, or other ways, forcing drivers to stop. They will then rob the poor sods. If they're lucky, that's all the pirates will do."

"That's horrible! Why don't the authorities do something?" she asked, outraged.

"This is Essos, not Westeros. It's always been more lawless. That's why most of the drugs come from here. It's a haven for the dregs of society. It's where people running from the law in Westeros flee to. The authorities concentrate their efforts in the major cities, and in some of the larger towns, but the outlying areas are just too big and too sparsely populated for them to worry about. Plus the different regions are always bickering with each other over disputed borders, they concentrate their forces on that, leaving the rest to fend for themselves."

"It's just so wrong. Everyone should be safe, not just those in big cities. It's not fair, or right."

Sandor scoffed. "Naive Little Bird, aren't you?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "Thinking life is fair. There's nothing fair about it. Or just. I suppose privileged types like you wouldn't know anything about it."

Sansa glared at him. "What would you know about it? Or about me?"

"Nothing, that's what. I don't have to. I only have to look at you, with your spotless new shoes, jeans that probably cost more than some families' week's wages and stupid pink fucking sleeping bag!"

"You ignorant, prejudiced bastard! You judge me by my appearance and my wealth. You have no idea what I'm going through. Or what I'm like. You took one look at me and made up your mind about me, didn't you?"

"It wasn't hard."

"Just like I look and listen to you and have decided that you're boorish and crude and if there's any redeeming qualities in there, I'm the Maiden incarnated!"

Sandor grinned at her. "You might be a princess but you have balls, I'll give you that."

"Bigger than yours!"

Sandor chuckled and leaned closer. "Want to confirm that?"

Sansa gasped at his crudity. "Certainly not!"

"Shame."

They stared each other, Sansa's face red, Sandor smirking. The air was suddenly charged.

Sandor was the first to speak. "We'll try to find a motel tonight before it gets too late."

Sansa nodded. "Ok, um, should I get supplies…for dinner…or something?"

"Nah, I know this road. There's a small village further on where we can get dinner supplies. We'll get to Sar Mell tomorrow."

"Alright, then. I'll just go the bathroom and get something to eat. Want anything?"

"Whatever's edible, Little Bird. I'm not fussy," he stated, opening the door.

"Why do you call me 'Little Bird'?"

"Because you chirp like one," he replied as he got out.

Sansa huffed in indignation but chose to ignore it. All things considered, she preferred it to 'princess'. And she had a feeling making a fuss about it would only encourage him.

* * *

"So, how did you get into your line of work?"

Sandor raised his eyebrow and glanced at her.

They had been driving for about an hour, not saying much, and Sansa got fed up with the silence. He might be a boor but he was the only one she could talk to so she decided to make conversation. Ideally, she would be trying to figure out her father's clues but reading in cars made her sick, so that was out.

"My line of work?"

"Yes, you know. The whole mercenary thing. I thought that was only something found in movies," she admitted.

"Fucking movies," he spat. "Mercenary work is no different to regular soldiering. We're just paid better."

"But a soldier is working to protect his or her country," she argued.

"And a mercenary is working to do whatever their employer pays them to do. Both kill on command, whether it's an opposing army or a rival gang's thugs. There's no difference."

"Of course there is! A soldier is doing a noble service. They fight for their countries' and rulers' honour and safety. They are valiant and brave."

Sandor sneered. "Honour! And of course, no ruler has ever been corrupt and used his or her 'honourable' soldiers for their own end, regardless of whether it was for the good of their subjects?"

Sansa sputtered. "Of course, there have been examples…"

"Many examples, Little Bird. Just like some of my employers' have had questionable morals, some were the only protection the people in their surrounding areas had. Some were fighting oppression by their 'rightful' rulers, corrupt officials who used their own 'legitimate' armies to quash uprisings when the people had enough of a privileged few lining their own coffers to the detriment of the populace. Others, admittedly, were only looking after their own interests and probably paid better. A soldier, mercenary or not, is only there to kill, be it for king and country or a private employer."

"All countries need a standing army," argued Sansa.

"Yes, but not all mercenary soldiers are evil, money hungry monsters, like the movies portray. They just choose to ply their skills to whoever is willing to pay them."

"Why didn't you become a regular soldier?

Sandor glanced at her before answering. "I did."

Feeling like she was getting a glimpse of the man behind the angry exterior, Sansa turned in her seat to face him. "Really? Why did you leave?"

Sandor's face darkened momentarily, as if the memory wasn't a pleasant one. "I joined as soon as I was old enough, got stationed to the Stormlands and thought I'd do that until I retire or got killed in action or something. Whichever came first. Then, on a night while on leave in Harrenhal, went out to a pub and ran into an associate of my brother." He looked at her, a sneer on his face that Sansa recognised wasn't aimed at her. "Let's just say that my dear, departed brother and I were not on good terms, a fact this Polliver pointed out, to his detriment, as he subsequently ended up in hospital."

Sansa's mouth opened wide in shock.

"Fucking cunts decided to court-martial me, despite the fact I didn't start anything, and I was summarily dismissed from his majesty's service. Decided to up and come over here, found work straight away and haven't left. Yet."

"Yet? You planning on going back to Westeros?" asked Sansa curiously.

"Soon, hopefully. This money you're paying me will go a long way towards it."

"And where's home?"

Sandor smirked at her curiosity. "Little Bird wants to know about the The Hound, does she?"

"Who's the Hound?" she asked, wrinkling her forehead.

"Me, Little Bird. Nickname I earned in the regular army and carried with me."

"But why do they call you that? It sounds a frightening name."

Grinning somewhat evilly at her, he answered her question. "Because I was, am, as fearsome as a rabid hound when necessary. 'Cause no one seemed to like killing as much as I did."

Sansa reared back, suddenly very alarmed. What if he lived up to his nickname whilst with her?

"Don't worry that pretty head of yours, Little Bird. I reserve my inner beast for those who deserve it, not delicate princesses like you."

If that was meant to be reassuring, it didn't quite work, but Sansa nodded slowly. "Of course. And you'd not bite the hand that's paying you."

"Not unless you asked nicely," he replied, grinning at the flush his words caused.

"You're awful."

"I'm honest, Little Bird. It's the world that's awful. Don't forget that."

Silence descended on them as they both got lost in their thoughts. Sandor was the first to break it.

"If you're not the princess you claim you're not, what do you do for a living?" he asked.

Sansa was a little surprised he asked, not expecting him to want to know anything about her other than where they were going.

"I'm an author."

His one eyebrow raised in surprise at her answer. "What genre?"

She had a feeling that someone like him was going to disparage her work and she wasn't disappointed.

"Romance."

Sandor's face was blank for the millisecond it took for her answer to be processed in his brain and then he broke out into laughter. He was guffawing even.

"I don't know why that's so funny. It's a very popular genre," she pointed out huffily.

"Of _course_ you'd write romances. Pretty Little Bird tweeting her pretty little words full of airy-fairy ideas of love and happily ever afters," he chuckled.

"You don't have to be so derisive about it, arsehole."

"And have you sold any books? Or are you an 'aspiring' writer who never actually finishes anything while you live off daddy's money?"

"What do you know about my family?"

"I know who the Stark's are, Little Bird. I may not read fucking gossip pages but I do know about the prominent families of Westeros, of which yours is one."

"You didn't say anything."

Sandor shrugged. "Doesn't matter any to me. As long as I get paid, I don't care what family you come from." He glanced at her. "So, have you sold any."

"Last time my agent gave me the figures, it was just shy of two million books." Sansa took great pleasure in the incredulous look that suffused his features.

"Two million?"

"Yes," came the smug reply. "It's probably past the two million mark by now. Those figures were a couple of months ago."

"Why haven't I seen your name on a book?"

"I write under a pseudonym."

"Which is?"

"Alayne Stone."

A look of recognition crossed his face. "Fuck me dead, who'd have thought stupid romances could sell that well."

"They're not stupid and nearly two million readers would agree with me."

Sandor sneered. "Two million people living in la-la land where everything's perfect and the hero always get the girl. Maybe if they read real books, the world wouldn't be so fucked up."

"And maybe if more people read about love and the kinder things in life, the world would be a happier place!"

"Happy," he snorted. "What the fuck's that?"

Sansa stared at him. "Haven't you ever been happy? Or have you always been a miserable bastard?"

"People that look like me don't get to be happy, Little Bird."

"That's nonsense! What's your looks got to do with anything?"

"Are you fucking serious!" he growled, glaring at her. "You try getting horrified looks from everyone you meet, treated like some kind of monster, as if being near me will somehow infect you with my ugliness every single, fucking day of your life and tell me how to be happy!"

Despite his rudeness, Sansa couldn't help the well of sympathy that rose in her chest at his words. No, she had no idea what that felt like. She couldn't imagine it, actually. To be treated like a monster because of superficial scars.

"You're not ugly," she murmured, meaning it.

Yes, the scars were confronting at first glance, being as extensive as they were, but despite them, the rest of his features were pleasing, especially his eyes – when they weren't glaring at her. In these few hours spent in his company, Sansa had grown used to the scars.

Sandor snorted cynically. "Don't fucking patronise me."

"I'm not!" she retorted.

"Yeah, right, I'm a regular movie star," he muttered, falling into silence.

"I didn't say that. Just that scars don't make you ugly," she insisted. "Your personality, on the other hand…"

Though he scowled at her, Sansa detected a hint of amusement in his eyes and smirked back at him.

For the next hour or so, the silence in the truck was somewhat companionable rather than tense, as it had been earlier. The sun was also getter lower to the ground and they had only passed a few settlements.

"You never did tell where we're stopping tonight," Sansa pointed out, breaking the silence.

"There's a small village about twenty miles ahead. They have a motel we can stay the night at as well as a local pub. It's not five-star accommodation but it should be sufficiently comfortable for you, princess."

"Pig," she muttered, earning herself another chuckle at her expense.

"Of course, that's dependent on whether they have two rooms available," he added before giving her a mock leer. "If not, we might have to share a bed."

Sansa's face burned a fiery red at the thought of sleeping next to Sandor, all muscles, hair and…and _man_. "In your dreams, Sandor. I'd sooner sleep in here."

A bark of laughter was the response. "Suit yourself, princess. You'll keep the windows locked, won't you?"

 _Please let there be two rooms, or at the very least, two beds._ Sansa prayed to every deity she could think of and any others who were willing to pitch in to help her out.

When Sandor began whistling 'Stranger's in the Night', it took all her willpower not to hit him. It would probably hurt her more, anyway. Bastard.


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: I'm back! Sorry for the long delay - a combination of Christmas, holidays, work and writing a Christmas fic led to this fic getting a little neglected. The next won't be as long as I have the story all mapped out - it just needs to be written. That said, I hope it cools down in Sydney long enough for me to concentrate on writing rather than on not melting into a puddle of sweat!**

* * *

 _Thump! Thump! Thump!_

Sansa groaned and pulled the blanket over her head, hoping whoever was pulling her from her precious sleep would just go away.

 _Thump! Thump! Thump!_

"GO AWAY!"

"Get up, princess!"

"NO! 'S too early!" Burying her head under the pillow, Sansa tried to get back to the sleep she'd so rudely been pulled from.

 _THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!_

"Arghhh!" she growled, reluctantly throwing back the blanket and marching grumpily to the door, yanking it open. "Get lost!"

Sandor stood at the door, hand poised to the knock again. In her half-asleep state, Sansa didn't register what she was, or wasn't, wearing. Obviously he did, as his mouth dropped open slightly at the same time his eyes dropped from hers down to her somewhat unclothed body.

Feeling the heat the previous night, Sansa had chosen to sleep only in a singlet top and her underpants, a white cotton pair with love hearts all over it that she had bought because they were so cute.

Sansa was never at her best in the morning – she was considered a downright nightmare by her family – so it was only when his eyes wouldn't leave her legs that her brain switched on enough to realise what he was gawking at.

"Shit!" she cried, slamming the door shut, mortified.

"Nice underwear, Little Bird, but it's time to get going," he called from the other side of the door.

Seven hells! Sansa wasn't equipped to deal with this so early in the morning. She struggled to barely get herself dressed some mornings – putting up with him was just too much.

"It's so early!" she whined. "What kind of monster gets up at the crack of dawn?"

"It's 7.00 o'clock, princess. Get your arse dressed and meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes or I'll turn around and go home."

"Ha! As if! You won't get your precious money then, will you?" she taunted.

There was silence for a few moments and she was thinking that he had changed his mind and she could get back to sleep for a few more hours when she heard his somewhat menacing voice.

"Little Bird, if I have to break that door down and dress you myself, I will. I promise you that. Now, meet me downstairs in fifteen or I'll be back." She heard his footsteps walk away down the hallway and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Not doubting he'd keep his promise, Sansa reluctantly sprang into action and quickly dressed in a pair of shorts and t-shirt as Sandor had mentioned that it was going to be hotter today than yesterday.

Once again, she had to sit on her suitcase to close it, not relishing having to carry it back down the stairs on her own.

Upon arriving at the small hamlet the previous evening, Sandor had driven to the motel, which turned out to be guest rooms above the local inn.

To her relief, the owner had two rooms available and when Sandor handed her her key, he'd smirked and murmured, "damn" in her ear. She had ignored him and went back out to get her suitcase, followed slowly by Sandor.

Opening the tray, Sandor had grabbed his pack and had taken a few steps away when she called out to him.

"Aren't you going to help me?"

He turned, his good eyebrow raised. "You chose to bring that fucking stupid thing. Why should I have to haul it all around the fucking continent for you? You want it, you carry it."

Sansa fumed as she tugged at her suitcase, grunting as it practically dropped off the tray, nearly crushing her foot. Maybe packing so much had been a mistake?

Although it had wheels, the ground was rough gravel, making it almost as hard to pull as it was to carry. Grabbing the handle with both hands, Sansa practically bunny-hopped the suitcase to the doorway, sighing in relief at the floorboards.

Until she reached the stairs. The steep, narrow stairs. Shit!

Step by miserable step, she carried her bag up the first flight of stairs, puffing with exertion as she rested on the landing, looking at the next lot with despair. Sandor, the jerk, had already gone upstairs and there wasn't anyone around to ask for help.

Grabbing the handle with both hands, she inched up each step, deciding the first thing she'd do was jump in the shower when she finally reached her room.

"Gimme that," Sandor's gruff voice growled behind her, startling her so much she nearly let go of the suitcase, which would have sent it plunging back down. His hand reached past her to grab the handle, engulfing her own until she let go abruptly.

The stairs in the inn were narrow, which meant Sandor's body was definitely in her personal space, making her nerves jump weirdly. Sansa could smell the faint odour of cologne mixed with his scent and without volition, she breathed in deeply, colouring as she realised what she'd done. Moving away as far the railing would allow, Sansa let him pass her with the suitcase.

"Bloody suitcase!" he muttered, as he carried it up the rest of the stairs, his muscles barely straining from the effort.

"Th…thanks," mumbled Sansa, her eyes glued to his arm as it moved before she snapped herself out of it. _Why are you ogling his arm?_

"What the fuck have you got in here? A dead body?" he growled as he reached the top. "Women!"

Any gratitude Sansa felt went out the window. "What do you mean by that? And no, it's just stuff I need in there."

"I've never yet met a woman who can pack light. Why do you need so much shit?"

"I only packed the essentials, I'll have you know," she retorted, grabbing the handle again.

Sandor snorted derisively. "Yeah, right. 'Cause you'll need heels out there in the wild, obviously."

Sansa chose not to dignify that remark and hauled her somewhat heavy – there was no way she was going to admit to that fact – suitcase to her room.

"I'm going to shower and grab dinner downstairs," he told her as he stalked past her to his room, sounding as if he didn't care whether she joined him or not.

A small, catty part of her wanted to leave him to it, but she realised she needed to eat as well. "I'll join you." He just nodded and entered his room.

Dinner had been a simple fare and they didn't talk much, each lost in their own thoughts. Straight after, Sansa had bid him goodnight and headed up to read and try to decipher her father's clue's. The night was extremely muggy, so she just lay in her underwear, not thinking anyone would see them.

That funny feeling in her stomach returned as she remembered the way Sandor's eyes lingered on her legs when she opened the door. Annoyed at herself, she hurried out of the room, not eager to have the brute bust down her door.

She'd need some sustenance to deal with that.

 _Who would've thought the Little Bird would be such a grump in the mornings_ , Sandor chuckled to himself.

She sat in front of him, eating her scrambled eggs, barely grunting a word back at him. He wasn't much of a morning talker himself, but she was definitely worse.

Still, it helped distract him from thoughts about her legs. And her tits.

Legs that just went on forever, topped by those panties. How he didn't pop a boner right then, he didn't know. They were simple cotton ones – he'd seen racier things on the beaches of Essos – but she made them look like the sexiest silk lingerie. Hearts! They had hearts on them.

Of course he'd noticed the shape and texture of her legs. All soft and silky - he had to force away the image of those thighs wound tightly around his shoulders as he buried his head between them.

The thin top she wore did nothing to hide the deliciousness of her tits, ripe and soft for his mouth and hands.

The whole episode had only taken seconds but her image was seared into his brain.

He'd gotten himself under control when she came down the stairs and all his good work was undone.

Why did she have to wear those shorts that made him wonder what was printed on her panties underneath? At least her t-shirt was okay but it didn't stop his eyes wanting to linger on her breasts.

Luckily, her grumpiness distracted him from his perverted thoughts. Mentally smacking himself in the head, he concentrated on the real objective here: to earn his money so that he could go home.

"Where to, today?" he rasped, forking another mouthful of bacon into his mouth.

Sansa paused and looked at him. "North?" she said, before returning to her food.

"Not much of a princess in the morning, are you?" he taunted.

She scowled at him. "No. I hate mornings."

"We'll probably be starting a lot earlier than this once we're out there," he stated, vaguely indicating out the window.

"Why can't things be done at a civilised time?" she grumbled. "That's why I like writing. I can start when I want to. I'd be a nightmare if I had to start work at some gods-awful time in the morning."

"Well, aren't you the lucky one?" he sneered.

Sansa glared at him. "Yes, I know I am. If I had to do it every day, I would, but I wouldn't be happy about it. Actually, I don't know why I'm even talking to you. I hate everyone in the mornings."

Sandor burst out laughing. "Damn, and there I was thinking there would be a window in the day when you didn't hate me, because the afternoon and evening wasn't much better."

"I don't hate you," she argued. "You just annoy me with your judgemental attitude."

Sandor nodded and the grin didn't leave his mouth. "Well, enough chit-chat, sunshine, we have to get going."

"Where are we going now?"

"Driving through to Sar Mell. It's a pretty big town and we'll need to get supplies as civilisation gets much scarcer after that. Any idea where we go after that?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. I've tried to work out where to go from some clues I received but I haven't figured it out."

"So, North?"

"North it is."

Getting her suitcase down the stairs proved to be as challenging as getting it upstairs. Even more so, as she had to stop herself from tumbling down, suitcase and all.

She'd made it nearly down to the bottom when her precarious hold on gravity was severely tested.

The steps, being old wooden ones, were not all a uniform size – some were deeper than others – making the whole exercise even trickier.

As she lugged the case down one of the steeper steps, the weight of the suitcase nearly pushed her down to the next, her foot dangling in the air as she tried to steady herself.

Visions of herself lying lifeless at the bottom, squashed by a hefty purple suitcase, flashed through her mind as she struggled to regain her balance.

Sansa was sure she was done for when a large, meaty hand grabbed hold of her arm and the suitcase at the same time. The hold was firm and she knew she'd probably get a bruise but it was better than dying.

"I got you," Sandor's voice growled behind her. "Fucking suitcase!"

When Sansa was steady, he took the suitcase from her and without another word, stomped down the stairs and out the inn's door.

Taking a moment to settle her racing heart, Sansa took a deep breath before following him, her hand absentmindedly rubbing the skin where his hand had been.

Why did it feel like his fingers had burned her? What was that?

Shaking her head, she followed him outside to see him angrily toss the suitcase into the cab as if it was a pillow, the muscles in his arms rippling with the movement.

 _He's so strong_ , the thought making her shiver slightly, before she caught herself. _Stop it! He's nothing but a big brute! There's nothing attractive about him_ , she scolded herself.

As if to underpin her thoughts, Sandor got into the vehicle, slamming the door shut.

 _And I thought I was the grumpy one in the morning_ , she snorted to herself.

Climbing into the passenger seat, Sansa ventured a glance at her companion, his scowl even more pronounced.

Sandor turned his head, glaring at her, his grey eyes glittering with annoyance. _I was wrong_ , she thought. _His eyes are amazing_.

Sansa didn't know why he was so cranky all of a sudden. He'd been fine at breakfast, and she hadn't said anything to him since then. "What's got your goat?"

He didn't answer her, just scowled and drove off. Sansa shrugged and looked out the window.

The terrain stayed fairly consistent – trees and grassland interspersed, and she quickly grew bored. She wished she could read in vehicles as she could continue trying to search for answers but didn't want to risk throwing up all over Sandor's truck. He'd probably throw her out, money or no money.

After about an hour of driving, Sandor turned off the road onto a dirt track.

"Where are we going?" she asked, somewhat alarmed.

Sandor didn't reply and kept driving. After only a few minutes, he drove up to the edge of a cliff leading down to the river below before stopping. Without a word, he got out of the vehicle.

Sansa scrambled after him. "Sandor? What's going on?"

"You have a backpack in here?" he rasped, pointing to her suitcase.

"Yes, why?"

"Fill it with what you need. Only what you need," he replied briskly, pulling the suitcase to the edge of the tray.

"Why? What's happening?" Sansa was confused.

"Just do it, or I'll do it for you," he growled.

His tone indicated that he wasn't playing around, so Sansa hastily opened the suitcase, digging out the unused backpack. "I don't know why I have to do this," she argued as she tried to discreetly stuff underwear into the smaller pack.

"Because you paid me to be your guide."

"Making me your boss," she snapped back, looking at a pair of pumps. She doubted she'd need them out here.

"And I'm the one who knows what I'm doing, so get on with it. Only what you need."

With a huff, Sansa tried to put as much in the pack as possible. She tried stuffing her make up bag into the side pockets but it wouldn't fit so she had no choice but to get out her essentials – moisturiser, mascara, eyeliner, foundation, blush and a couple shades of lipstick.

"Don't know why you women insist on putting all that stuff on," he growled as he watched her impatiently.

"Because we like it, that's why!" she retorted. "Why do men shave their…forget it."

Finally, she couldn't put anything else in the bag. "There. Happy?"

Sandor grunted and closed her suitcase before abruptly dragging it out and walking to the edge of the cliff.

"What are you doing?" she asked, growing more alarmed with each step.

Sandor picked up the suitcase in two hands and looked at her. "Getting rid of excess-fucking-baggage!"

"WHAT! NO!" she screamed as raced towards him.

Sansa could only watch in horror as he hefted the large suitcase as if it was an empty cardboard box and tossed it over the side. Standing as close to the edge as she dared, she watched her purple suitcase fly through the air, springing open as it bounced on a rocky outcrop, before hitting the bottom, the two sides coming apart.

Caught on branches and floating down the fast flowing river were her belongings, scattered everywhere.

Sansa stood there in shock, unable to process that those were her things.

"Right, that's that. Let's go."

Fury engulfed her and she swung around, her fist closed like her brothers' had taught her, landing a punch right on Sandor's jaw, making his head twist to the side from the impact.

The blind fury was instantly replaced by a stinging pain in her hand and a sense of dread. What had she done? Sandor could snap her like a twig if he wanted to. He had killed people. Sansa cradled her hand to her chest and looked at him in fear, awaiting his reaction.

Expecting a reciprocal blow, Sansa steeled herself, but he only flexed his jaw and rubbed where her punch had landed whilst looking thoughtfully at her, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Feel better?"

"Not really," she replied, flexing her fingers. Damn, his head was hard!

"Hand alright?" he asked, nodded to her reddened knuckles.

"I'll live," she snapped, still angry but relieved he didn't seem angry. "You're an arsehole, you know."

Sandor grinned and nodded. "Been called a lot worse, Little Bird."

"Why'd you do that?"

"Because you didn't need it. We're likely going to go into the wilderness and that suitcase sure as fuck won't be coming with us." He looked at her hand again. "You sure you're alright?"

"You've got a hard head but nothing's broken," she replied.

"Yeah, been told that before too." Looking into her eyes, a faint gleam of amusement still lurking in his, he nodded to the truck. "We'd better go."

Without a word, Sansa stomped back to the truck, nursing a throbbing hand as well as a healthy anger.

 _Dad, you've got a lot to answer for!_


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: Another chapter! Yay! I'm currently in the middle of a record heatwave and it feels like I'm in one of the seven hells. Getting this out in case the power goes out as the grid struggles to cope with demand for power! Hope you enjoy this chapter. I was inspired by the marketplace scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark**

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Chapter 8

Not much was said on the three hour trip to Sar Mell.

Sansa's hand finally stopped aching but her anger was still simmered. She mused on several ways to get even but dismissed each one. She did consider deducting the probable cost of all he'd thrown away from his fee. Instead, she settled for not speaking to him.

Every now and then he'd turn and look at her but she made sure she purposely looked out the window at those times. She didn't know and didn't care what he was thinking. She was just glad she managed to pack the necessities in the backpack. When she recalled the shoes and clothes she'd just lost, she'd fume again so she tried to concentrate on her father's clues.

"Hungry?" he asked, in what could pass as a conciliatory tone.

"No."

Sandor heaved a put upon sigh. "How long are you going to sulk?"

"As long as I bloody well want to!" she retorted.

"It's not like you can't afford to replace it," he countered.

Sansa swirled around to face him. "That's not the point. You had no right to do that to my things!

"I told you to pack light," he growled.

"Whatever," she replied snarkily before turning away again.

That pretty much ended _that_ conversation, no more said between them until they reached the outskirts of Sar Mell.

Sar Mell was located on the eastern bank of the Rhoyne and was built upon the ruins of the old town. It was built by the Valyrians millennia ago and much of it was ruined during subsequent wars and skirmishes. Its twin city, Volon Therys sat on the western bank.

As they drove into the town, Sansa could see many of the ruins interspersed with the new buildings, often forming part of the new structures. The closer they got to the centre, the more colourful the scenery was, with brightly clad women and children going about their daily business.

Sandor pulled into a parking spot and turned off the engine before turning towards her.

"There's not much between here and Selhorys so we'll need to stock up on food. Just through there is the main marketplace," he pointed to an alleyway on his right. "You can get anything you need there."

For the first time since the suitcase incident, he looked somewhat shamefaced, much to Sansa's satisfaction.

"What food should I get?"

"I'll get all that. I'll meet you back here in a hour if you want to look around the marketplace," he suggested.

"Are there any book stores here?" she asked, thinking that she might find something useful in it.

"To the far side of the marketplace is a bookstore."

Sansa nodded and got out of the truck, grabbing her handbag. "Will our things be safe here? I don't have much left as it is."

Without a word, Sandor motioned to a teenage boy that was just loitering nearby. He spoke to the boy in the local language before handing him some money. The boy flashed his teeth, bright in his swarthy face and leaned back on the truck's bumper.

"What did you say to him?" asked Sansa.

"Told him to look after the truck and that he'd get more if it's all there when we get back."

Upon entering the main square, Sansa was fascinated by the sights, smells and sound of the marketplace. Sandor left her there to get their supplies so she had an hour to kill and couldn't resist wandering through the stalls. She felt a little guilty that she wasn't using this time to work out her father's clues but she couldn't do anything until Sandor got back so she may as well use this opportunity as research for her book.

She spotted the bookstore Sandor had mentioned and began making her way towards it, keeping an eye on the time. She only had fifteen minutes, not much time to find anything, and was considering just heading back to the truck, when a hand grabbed her.

Thinking it was Sandor, she turned to tell him off, only to find a short, stubby man holding her arm.

"What are…?" she started, before the man began pulling her after him. Sansa dug her heels in and pulled back. "What are you doing? Let me go!"

The man, who was bald with small beady eyes and thick, fleshy lips turned back to her. "Shut up and come quietly if you know what's good for you."

Sansa struggled against the man's greater weight, which was useless. There were still many people around so she did the first thing she thought of.

She screamed.

Sandor watched the Little Bird walk off into the marketplace, her red hair and clothes contrasting vibrantly with the locals. He forced himself to tear his eyes away from her arse, lovingly encased in those denim shorts which only made her long legs look even longer.

There was a army surplus shop in the square which he headed to first. That stupid pink sleeping bag had to go. If they had to sleep rough, it would call attention like a siren. They may as well cover themselves in bacon and wait for the wildlife to feast on them. He planned to buy her a proper sleeping bag and she'd sleep in it whether she liked it or not. If she defied him on this, the sleeping bag would go the way of her suitcase.

Grabbing a few other things, Sandor walked out with the supplies, intending to put them in the truck before buying food. He passed the bookstore he'd mentioned and couldn't resist going inside.

Sandor's love affair with books began when he was recovering from the burns his brother had inflicted. Being confined to bed for so long, their one maid had brought him book after book to read. He quickly learned that by immersing himself within the pages he could temporarily forget about the pain, his brother, everything. Any spare change he got, he'd buy another book. Even during his stints as a mercenary, he still managed to indulge in his love of reading.

He read everything – except romances.

Instead of heading to the political thriller section, he ended up in the romance aisle. Checking to make sure there wasn't anyone around, he stopped at the end of the aisle, where the best-sellers were located.

Sure enough, there were books by Alayne Stone, proudly displayed.

Picking up the closest, Sandor snorted at the cover of 'Florian's Defeat'. As per usual, there was a beautiful heroine in the arms of her lover, some handsome knight. Of course he'd be handsome. Women only wanted handsome men, even if they were lying cunts.

Turning to the back cover, Sandor gazed at the picture of Sansa, who was smiling serenely at the camera. Why did she have to be so gods-damned gorgeous?

He quickly read the blurb and was about to put it down but something perverse in him made him carry it to the counter. He was curious to see what she was like as a writer. It would also give him ammunition if she annoyed him too much.

Ensuring it wasn't visible in any way, Sandor completed his food purchases before making his way back to his truck. The boy was still there so he gave him a few more coins before stowing everything in the back.

The book he buried right at the bottom of his pack. There was no way he wanted Sansa to find out he'd actually bought her novel. He planned to read it when he got the chance.

He'd filled the canteens with water and purchased perishable food that could be cooked over a campfire if necessary. Selhorys was only a shit little village and there was no guarantee they'd be able to purchase food so he planned ahead. There weren't any motels that he could recall, so the likelihood of them sleeping out in nature was high.

Sandor didn't feel like waiting around, so he decided to go to the marketplace and look for Sansa. With her hair, she should be easy to find.

Remembering that she planned to go to the bookstore – luckily not at the same time he was there – he headed in that direction.

The marketplace thinned out a little at this end so the screams of a woman rang loudly in the air.

Sandor froze in his tracks. That sounded like…

"HELP!" The shrill cry was repeated before it was muffled, probably by a hand.

That _was_ Sansa!

Adrenaline surging through him, Sandor raced in the direction of the screams, pushing aside other shoppers, to see a struggling Sansa being pulled into one of the alleys that led off from the central marketplace square.

Using his long legs to their best advantage, Sandor turned the corner and raced down the narrow alleyway, following the sound of her muffled voice.

The alleys in these old towns were like virtual rabbit warrens but he was able to catch up before she was lost in the maze.

"Shut up, bitch, or your father will pay!" ground out the man.

The kidnapper was obviously having a difficult time with Sansa, who was fighting him with every step, slowing them down considerably. With a long lunge, Sandor threw himself on the man, knocking all three to the ground.

Sansa's cry of pain distracted Sandor, allowing the man to land a punch to Sandor's side. The flare of pain, coupled with Sansa's small cry, allowed the stranger to wiggle out from under Sandor, which was no mean feat, considering his size.

Sandor reached out to grab the man but he caught a glimpse of blood from the corner of his eye and he automatically turned to see if the Little Bird was alright, allowing the stranger to scramble to his feet and scuttle away. Sandor was about to run after him in order to pummel the cunt to within an inch of his life, but Sansa's hand on his arm stopped all other thoughts other than that her touch seemed to burn his skin.

Whipping his head around, Sandor was alarmed to see blood on Sansa's arm from a cut near her elbow. She obviously got it when they tumbled to the ground. He was torn between running after the assailant and Sansa, but her faint groan settled the matter.

Sansa was sitting up, hair falling out of her ponytail, her t-shirt dusty from the ground and there were two red patches on her knees where they had scraped on the cobblestones. Grabbing her injured arm, she looked at the blood dripping onto the ground.

"Are you okay, Little Bird?" he asked, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief, shaking it out before pressing it to the cut. "Keep pressure on it until we get back to the truck. I've got a first aid kit there."

Sansa nodded, placing her hand over his as she followed his instruction. For a brief second, Sandor considered leaving his own there before coming to his senses. Pulling away as quickly as possible, he quickly looked over her to see if there were any other visible injuries.

"I'm okay, Sandor," she reassured him shakily. "l landed on my elbow when you tackled us."

"Did you know that man?"

She shook her head. "Never seen him before in my life. He just grabbed me and pulled me to the alley. All I could think of was to scream."

"Good. It worked. Come on, let's get back to the truck." Standing up, he reached down to help her, taking hold of her shoulders which felt incredibly delicate under his hands. Once she was steady on her feet, he reluctantly let her go and took a step back. He saw her handbag out of the corner of his eye, which was mostly intact.

Silently, he bent down and scooped everything back into it, purposely not looking into its contents. He was about to hand it back to her but realised she was still holding his handkerchief to her elbow. Her free hand was covered in drying blood.

"Um, er, I'll just carry this…for you," he mumbled, ignoring the dimple that appeared on her cheek as she tried to stop smiling at his predicament.

 _Fucking hells! She has dimples! Could things get any worse?_

The two of them made their way back to the market square, where a few curious looks were thrown their way, especially at Sansa. Sandor had to grit his teeth at the barely suppressed giggles he heard when onlookers saw he was carrying a woman's handbag.

Once back at the truck, he pulled open the tray door and helped her sit on it so he could tend her wound. Despite her height, Sandor had no choice but to take hold of her waist and lift her up.

Her waist was soft but firm and her floral scent wafted over him, making his pulse race at her proximity.

 _She hates you! You threw away her belongings. Let go. Now!_

Her soft gasp brought his eyes back to hers. She was looking at him, a faintly dazed expression in that gaze. Her soft, kissable lips were slightly parted and he wanted nothing more than to run his tongue along them to see if they were as delicious as they looked.

Catching sight of her blood out of the corner of his eye stopped him from making a complete fool of himself. Letting go of her abruptly, Sandor stepped back in order to clear his head of foolish fantasies about Sansa Stark.

"Better clean that up," he said gruffly, moving to the cabin to find the small first aid kit he kept in the glove box. He then grabbed a bottle of water in order to clean the blood off.

"There are public toilets nearby if you want to clean up properly," he told her as he pulled the soiled handkerchief away from the wound in order to inspect it. It wasn't very deep, a couple of plasters would be enough.

"Thanks. Yes, I'd appreciate that," she whispered as she watched him work, her gaze switching from his face to her arm. "Thank you, Sandor."

He grunted as he stuck a second plaster on her. "Didn't exactly perform surgery, Little Bird," he drawled.

"No, I mean, thank you for coming after me." She looked at him with a little warmth in her eyes, making his heart race.

Determined to tamp down that flame before he got burned again, he shrugged nonchalantly. "Wouldn't get my money, if I didn't." That warmth instantly disappeared and he couldn't help the small pang he felt.

"Of course," she murmured, looking at his repair work as if to avoid his eyes. "Thanks anyway." He nodded and began clearing up the scraps in order to dump them in the garbage. "Where are the restrooms?"

"There's a clean one at the petrol stop down the road. Only a couple of minutes away."

While Sansa was in the restroom, Sandor took the opportunity to fill his tank and think about the events earlier.

There was more going on here than she was admitting and he was going to get some answers.

Still looking a little shaken, Sansa climbed into the truck and was silent as they drove out of the town. He offered her a sandwich he'd picked up inside but she shook her head. It was early afternoon and he decided to push on.

About an hour later, Sandor pulled off the road and turned off the engine. Sansa turned puzzled eyes to him.

"Right, Little Bird. You're going to come clean and tell me what this whole thing is about."

"Wha…"

He held up his hand to stop her. "Enough with the bullshit about research and looking for some family heirloom. Tell me the truth or I'm turning around and you can keep your money!"

"I AM searching for an heirloom!" she insisted.

"That's why you have some thug trying to kidnap you? Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No! Why would you think that man had anything to do with my search? Women get attacked all the time."

"He said something about your father. He knew you, even if you didn't know him. Are we being followed? And why? What the fuck's going on, Sansa?"

Sansa stared at him, her blue eyes huge in her face as she seemed to recall that one detail of the attack. Sandor was not moving until he got some answers so he just glared back.

Finally, she took a deep, shuddering breath and did what she wasn't going to do. Tell him everything.

For the next half hour, she told him of her mother's phone call, her father's kidnapping and the threats made against him. About the dagger that was the source of so much angst and the clues she was desperately trying to decipher.

Sandor listened intently, not terribly shocked by her tale. He'd been in Essos a long time – there wasn't much that surprised him now. Hells, kidnappings were practically part of life here. That someone from as prominent a family in Westeros as the Starks was kidnapped was a little more unusual.

Obviously, though, this was not something the Little Bird or her family had ever encountered before. She told him about the threat to her father if her family went to the authorities and that it was the reason she had been keeping her secrets. Plus the fact that they had only met a couple days ago and she had no reason to trust him. Yet, as she spoke, she seemed somewhat relieved to have shared her burden with someone else.

"So, someone has kidnapped your father to get their hands on this dagger, but he doesn't have it and now you need to find it or they will kill him? Is that right?"

Sansa nodded. "But we don't know where it is! I'd never even heard of this blasted dagger until Mum rang me. And all I've got is this letter my Dad sent me with cryptic clues that I'm struggling to decipher. I even had to work out where to start from. Luckily my cousin's friend is a scholar who worked out that Volantis was the city in the clues."

"Do you have any idea who kidnapped him?"

"None at all. They just told Mum that she had to contact them when she had the dagger."

"Any time frame?"

"No, but they did threaten to send her a reminder if she took too long. I can imagine what they meant by 'reminder'," she shuddered.

"And now it looks like someone knows you're here."

"We didn't tell anyone, not even my brother. How did they know where to find me?"

Sandor shrugged. "You don't exactly blend in, Little Bird," he replied, looking at her hair pointedly. "Could be that the bastard just got lucky. You're well known, what with your books and your family. Wouldn't take a rocket scientist to recognise you. Which means, whoever's got your father has put the word out. Now they'll have confirmation you're in Essos and your whereabouts. Won't take long for more goons to converge in this area."

"I'm sorry, Sandor," she shuddered. "I never meant to put anyone in danger. I just wanted to get my father back. I don't care about that stupid dagger. They can have it, as far as I'm concerned, despite my father looking for it for most of his life. But I need to find it first."

Sandor stared out the windscreen, mind whirling with what he'd learned and trying to decide what action to take next. This information changed everything.

"We're going to have to go off-road, Little Bird." At her puzzled look, he continued. "Whoever's got your father will undoubtedly send people this way to find you. I told you this road gets more dangerous the further north we go and it'll be even worse now. The chances of getting ambushed are high. So, we'll need to get off the road and go through the bush."

"Is that safe?"

"Safer than staying on the road. Stranger here is tough. He'll handle the terrain."

"Stranger?"

"You're sitting in him, Little Bird."

"You named your vehicle?" she giggled incredulously.

Sandor flushed a little. "It's a good name." The look in his eyes said that this particular discussion was now closed. "It would help if I knew where we were going, though."

Sansa bent down and rifled through her bag before pulling out a folded piece of paper. "This is the letter Dad sent me. Maybe you can help me decipher the clues because I'm stumped."

"I'll have a look at it when we stop for the night. Needless to say, we'll be sleeping a lot rougher than last night." He shot her a quick grin. "At least you don't have to lug that stupid suitcase."

Sansa glared at him. "Don't even bring that up, Sandor," she warned.

"So, not forgiven then?"

"Not even a little bit," she replied, but he could see the tiny smile fighting its way out.

Peter Baelish disconnected the call with a satisfied grin on his face.

Things were going even better than he'd hoped for. Catelyn's daughter was in Essos. She was even more of a beauty than her mother. And much younger.

His original plan had been to get that dagger for Tywin Lannister and kill Ned Stark afterwards. After a suitable time, he'd visit Catelyn, as an old, dear friend wishing to offer comfort at the unfortunate loss of her husband.

Now, his mind was whirling with ideas on how to keep both the dagger and the daughter. Getting rid of Ned was simple. Swindling Tywin was another matter.

But he would find a way.


	10. Chapter 9

A/N: Thank you for the reviews and follows. They're much appreciated.

In this chapter, Sansa gets her first taste of camping and another clue get solved.

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Chapter 9

Ten minutes after getting back on the main road, Sandor had told Sansa to grit her teeth and hold on as things were going to get a little bumpy.

'Bumpy' was understating things, in her opinion.

Taking a hard right, Sandor drove his truck off the bitumen road and into the tree-lined scrub, the rutted earth making the vehicle jump around, rattling her bones. Sansa gripped the overhead hand-hold and tried to brace herself against the next inevitable bump.

The Sandor's credit, he seemed to be taking the smoothest route possible, but they were travelling over fallen plants and trees, rocks, and natural ditches. His brow was scrunched in concentration as he navigated his way between trees, attempting to avoid the largest hurdles, the muscles in his arms taught and bulging as he held the steering wheel tightly so as to avoid losing control of the vehicle.

"You alright, Little Bird?"

Sansa winced as they drove over a small boulder, making her backside bounce sharply on the seat. "Other than feeling like my brains are turning into scrambled eggs, I'm fine."

He threw her a quick grin. "I'm going to stop soon. It's getting late and we'll need to set up camp for the night before it gets dark. Just keeping an eye out for a good spot."

"Do you know this area?"

"A little. I know the terrain around here and there's a number of small tributaries that we can refill our water supplies if necessary." He caught the look of alarm that crossed her face at the thought of drinking untreated water. "It's pretty clean but we will boil it before drinking. I'll make sure you're safe, Little Bird."

At his words, Sansa felt herself soften a tiny bit towards him. He could have just dumped her in Sar Mel when it became clear that this was not just a simple treasure hunt, but he'd not hesitated in continuing to help her. Yes, she was paying him – as he liked to remind her – but still…

"Thanks."

They didn't speak for the next hour as the terrain became even trickier, with small ditches that required all of Sandor's skill and concentration to navigate. One in particular nearly made Sansa cry out loud when she saw the steepness of the sides. Going down, she was sure they would careen down to the bottom and climbing the other side, engine screaming, she fully expected the truck to flip backwards, burying them under a tonne of metal and glass.

Sansa heaved a sigh of relief when he finally pulled up next to a copse of trees that stood nearby a small, bubbling brook. The ground cover was long grass, which was a good thing. She didn't fancy trying to sleep on bare dirt.

"This will do," he said as he switched off the engine. "The trees will give us a measure of protection from the wind as well as providing something of a screen for the fire. Without them, a fire would stand out like a beacon out here at night. I don't think there's anyone out here, but better safe than sorry."

As he spoke, the reality dawned on her that she would essentially be camping with Sandor. She, who's idea of roughing it meant staying in a two-star motel. She had never gone with her siblings when they had gone into the wilderness as children, preferring to stay behind with her mother, a flushing toilet and hot, running water.

Wilderness meant insects and snakes and wild animals. "Are there snakes in Essos?" she asked nervously as she got out of the truck.

Sandor threw her a puzzled glance. "Of course there are. Everywhere has snakes." A gleam of amusement entered his eyes. "Are you afraid?"

"Yes! Any sane, sensible person would afraid of snakes, you know!"

He shook his head, biting his bottom lip as if trying to hold in a laugh. "There's worse things hunting you than snakes, Little Bird." Taking pity on her, he continued. "Don't worry about the snakes. The fire will keep them away and, contrary to popular myth, snakes don't actively seek out human prey. They usually strike only as a defensive measure or to catch food. They'll scatter long before we see them. They're much more scared of us than we are of them."

"That's debatable," muttered Sansa.

Sandor chuckled. "It's the larger animals you need to worry about."

"What larger animals?"

"Lions. Cheetahs. Big cats."

Sansa's eyes widened in alarm. "B-big cats?" She was already envisioning herself getting mauled to death by a huge, hungry lion. That's it! She was staying in the truck.

She must have said that aloud as Sandor laughed and shook his head. "I'm just messing with you, Little Bird. There aren't any big cats in this area, at least none that will harm you."

"You're an arsehole," she murmured, glaring at him.

"I know," he agreed. "You're just so easy to get a rise from, Little Bird."

"Glad to know I amuse you. What now?" she ground out.

Moving to the back, Sandor grabbed his pack. "We're going to set up camp. You know – build a fire, collect wood. The usual stuff." He looked closely at her face as realisation struck. "You've never camped before?"

Sansa's face burned with embarrassment, though why she should feel that way, she didn't know. "No."

"Never?"

"No, never. Why is that so surprising to you? Not everyone wants to forgo life's simple luxuries so that they can commune with nature. I can commune quite fine with nature from a hotel room."

Sandor barked out a laugh. "This is going to be quite an education then, isn't it, Little Bird? Well, let's get started before night falls."

Following Sandor's instructions, Sansa helped collect firewood whilst he set up the camp. She noticed that he stood as far back as possible when he lit the fire and felt for him. If she had any idea what to do, she would have offered.

"Can you teach me to do that?" she asked as the fire took hold, Sandor carefully adding bits of wood.

"Teach you what?"

"To light a fire." At his sceptical look, she explained. "It would be a good detail for my writing and I can help you light the fires while we're out here."

"Don't you pity me," he growled, glaring at her.

Sansa took a step back at his anger. "I'm not. I'm sorry you were hurt but I'm not pitying you. I just think it's a handy skill to know. What if you got hurt? I'd be clueless."

Her guileless tone must have convinced him and he nodded. "I'll teach you tomorrow. In the meantime, get the sleeping bags out, unless you want to sleep in the truck."

Sansa had thought of that initially but unless she wanted to sleep upright (which she found almost impossible), the tray had no kind of padding on the metal base. The ground would be more comfortable. "No, I'll sleep out here."

She was grabbing her pink sleeping bag, when Sandor's hand encircled her wrist, sending a flurry of sensations up her arm.

"Not that one."

Sansa turned to him, not realising how close he was. Those flurries became waves. "This is my bag."

"I got you a more practical one in Sar Mell."

"What's wrong with this one?"

"It's pink."

"So?"

Sandor sighed and stepped back, letting go. Sansa mentally kicked herself for feeling somewhat disappointed. "You're the one worried about big cats. This colour will attract wildlife. This area is known for baboons. They like bright colours. And while they look 'cute', they can be dangerous buggers with big teeth. I don't want to attract them. Use that bag and you may as well offer the bastards a bottle of sauce to go with it."

"Oh," was the only reply.

Sansa could see the logic in his words. Plus, this is what she'd hired him for. He knew what he was doing. She didn't. "Okay then, show me which one I'll be using."

As if he'd been expecting an argument, Sandor's eyebrow raised. "Those ones. Ah, if you want, you can turn your pink one inside out and use it as extra padding to lie on. Seeing as you're not used to sleeping on the ground."

She stared at him in surprise. Was Sandor trying to be nice? "Um, yeah. Ok. Thanks."

Sandor mumbled something and strode to the other side of the truck, grabbing some the supplies he'd purchased earlier, not looking at her.

He'd lit the fire near a fallen log, which could be used as a seat, so Sansa set the sleeping bags down on the other side of the fire. Sandor could move his when he was ready to sleep if he wanted.

As he was rigging up a stand to boil water, Sansa realised that she had ignored the call of nature for many hours. Where was she to go to the toilet? She looked around, as if by sheer will alone, a flushing toilet would magically appear in camp.

"Um, Sandor. Where does one…um…" He looked up quizzically. "You know…um…answer the call of…"

"You want to take a dump."

Sansa's face flushed bright red. How humiliating! To have to discuss such intimate things with him. "No, but I need to go."

Sandor smirked and stood up, brushing his hands on his pants before striding to the truck. He took out a small hand shovel and roll of toilet paper which he handed to her.

"Dig a hole. Do your business and cover it back up."

She gaped at him. She had to dig a hole? In the ground? _Of course you do, idiot. Where else are you going to go?_

"Don't go too far away," he warned. His lips quirked at her dismayed look. "Don't worry, Little Bird, I won't look."

Sansa flushed again and walked away without a word. When she considered herself far enough away that he wouldn't be able to hear or see anything, but was still in sight of the camp, she set about her task.

"I hate camping," she muttered to herself as she zipped up her shorts afterwards. "Hate it, I say."

Walking back, she could smell bacon cooking and her stomach rumbled. She hadn't eaten for hours.

Sandor, well versed in outdoor cooking, had made sausages, bacon and baked beans for dinner. Starving, Sansa thought it was the best meal she'd had in ages. When he made to go to the stream to wash the pot and plates, Sansa offered to do it.

"What? Contrary to your opinion, I'm not a spoiled princess," she retorted at his surprised look. "I'm quite happy to pull my weight. I hired a guide, not a servant."

It might have been a trick of the firelight, but it seemed as if his cool grey eyes warmed a little as he gazed at her.

In the end, they both went to stream as he wanted to wash up a little himself. So as Sansa washed the pan as well as she could, Sandor crouched down at the edge to wash his hands.

That's what she thought, anyway.

When he pulled his t-shirt off, exposing his hairy, but very well defined chest and torso, Sansa nearly lost her grip of the pan she was holding. He was facing slightly away from her, so he didn't see her eyes widen as she took in the wide shoulders that narrowed into a taut 'V' at his waist. There were dips and hollows that highlighted each muscle as well as numerous scars that denoted a hard life.

Sansa couldn't help licking her dry lips as she watched him scoop up handfuls of water and tip them over his face and chest, droplets catching on the hair before dripping down, following the valleys of his torso. She didn't notice the way her breathing had sped up and her heart raced, mesmerised by the spectacle in front of her.

Nor did she notice that the sponge she held was dripping onto her leg as she stared at him until he turned his face and caught her looking.

Light a deer caught in headlights, Sansa didn't move for a fraction of a moment, until her brain caught up and she realised what she was doing. With a soft gasp, she scrubbed the pan like her life depended on it, not noticing the tiny smile on Sandor's face as he pulled his t-shirt back on.

"Nearly done, Little Bird?"

"Ahh…um…yeah, sure…um…it's a…um…stubborn. This bit…ah…here…" She knew she was mumbling like an idiot, but her mind kept seeing water droplets on his stomach and couldn't think straight.

"Want a coffee?' he asked.

"Oh…um…do you have tea?" she replied.

"Yeah."

"I'll have one then. Thanks." She risked a glance up but he had turned to return to the fire. Sansa breathed a sigh of relief.

 _He's still an arsehole, Sansa. He threw your stuff away, remember. He's surly and disagreeable. He can be incredibly rude. Just because he has the body of a god doesn't change that. Get a grip._

But he had stopped her being kidnapped and there were glimpses of a sweet man there. It's like he'd been hard and rough for so long, he'd forgotten how to be any other way.

But, oh gods! That body! She hadn't even pictured her Florian with a body like that. And she didn't even like muscled bodies, did she?

"Show me that letter your father wrote," requested Sandor, taking a sip of his coffee whilst enjoying the way the flames of the fire seemed to make Sansa's hair glow with rival flames, her creamy skin slightly pink from the glow.

She had been somewhat quiet after washing up, simply taking her tea with a subdued 'thank you' before settling down on her sleeping bag, back resting on the log for support.

Sandor hadn't missed the way she had been looking at him while he washed himself. He dismissed it as anything more than curiosity. He knew his body was attractive – he'd lost count of the times women got that look in their eyes as they gazed over him, until they got to his face, the intrigued look turning to disgust, more often than not. Some carried on with things, despite their revulsion, whether as a dare to themselves or for whatever fucked up reason, but hurriedly scrambled away once the deed was done. It always left him feeling hollow but he had needs he needed to scratch. Admittedly, those instances had become less and less as he got older. He could barely recall the last time he'd fucked a woman.

That's probably why he felt like he had been sporting a semi hard-on since he'd met this woman. Not that he would delude himself into thinking that anything would come of it.

Though if he managed to find more excuses to take off his shirt…

"Here," Sansa's voice cut into his musings, holding out a folded piece of paper. "I've been trying to make sense of it but I just don't know enough about Essos to make any headway. It's just so cryptic. It's only because of my friend Sam and Tyrion's help that I knew where to even start and that I needed to follow the Rhoyne River north."

Sandor grimaced at the mention of Tyrion Lannister, which Sansa didn't miss. "Why do you hate him so much, anyway?"

He shook his head. "That's not important now." Taking the paper, he unfolded it, noting the evidence of it being constantly folded and unfolded. His brow furrowed as he read the cryptic note:

 _From the first city, the mother of six must be followed north to her sorrow and beyond. Beware the dream crossing. On golden fields, the snarling dog rests besides its dagger. Within in jaws will be what you seek_

"Fuck! He couldn't have made it any less clear, could he?" he mumbled, reading it over and over again.

"Now you see why I've not been able to make heads or tails of it," replied Sansa. "It's obviously directions to this dagger, but it may as well be written in Ancient Valyrian for all the sense it makes."

As she spoke, one of Sandor's eyebrow's raised as he looked at her. "What?" she asked at his expression.

"Valyrian."

"Huh? What are you…"

"When you mentioned Ancient Valyrian, it struck a chord," he explained, pointing down at the letter. "Your father has put a number of Valyrian references in here. 'The first city'. The 'mother of six'."

Sansa kneeled up, looking at him eagerly. "And? Have you figured something else out?"

"The phrase 'her sorrow and beyond'. In ancient times, the city of Chroyane, which is north of here, situated at the junction of two tributaries, was referred to as 'The Sorrows'."

"'The mother of six must be followed north to her sorrow and beyond'!" gasped Sansa.

Sandor nodded thoughtfully. "It hasn't been known by that term for hundreds of years, but after the fall of Valyria, it became a thriving town, though not one that most people wanted to visit."

"What do you mean? Why did they call it 'The Sorrows'?"

"It was primarily built by the victims of greyscale."

Sansa gasped when she heard of the scourge that had plagued ancient times, the disease that caused scaly growths on the victim's skin, spreading over the whole body, eventually encasing them in the rock-like growth, killing them in the process.

"When someone contracted greyscale, they were shunned by their families and communities, terrified that they'd contract it themselves, so the victims were left to find somewhere to live out the rest of their miserable existences. The Sorrows became the place most went to and it was actively avoided by anyone without the disease. Men, women, children – they were left there, often dumped by their families. They formed their own community of outcasts."

"That's so sad," sympathised Sansa. "I can't imagine leaving one of my brothers or sister there to die."

"It's hard to be critical – greyscale was highly infectious and could spread within a small community really quickly. It was akin to amputating a diseased limb – sacrificing a part to save the whole."

"I can see why it was called 'The Sorrows'," noted Sansa. "We're so lucky that medical advances have eradicated the disease."

Sandor nodded in agreement. "The thing is, whilst Chroyane is free of greyscale, it's still a shithole."

"Why?"

"It's a haven for many of the low-lives of this world, Little Bird. It's rife with crime, gangs, prostitution. No one wants to live there willingly."

"Then it sounds like the perfect place to hide my father."

"Yeah, but they want the dagger, don't they?" Sansa nodded. "Anyway, according to this, the dagger isn't in Chroyane. Your father has marked the location on this drawing. I'm going to need to consult my maps and see if it resembles any landmark in that area. It looks like something I've seen."

"At least we have a direction to head in now," she pointed out.

"Yeah, and it's worrying the shit out of me," he growled.

"Why?"

"The reference to the 'dream crossing'. Chroyane is accessed by a valley that is often the location of ambushes, due to the terrain. We're going to have to get through without calling attention to ourselves."

Sansa bit her lip worriedly. "Isn't there another way in?"

"No, as it's bordered by the two tributaries. The next crossing is hours north of the city."

"Maybe my father's warning was to avoid the valley?" she suggested.

"Could be. If we can work out where to go after Chroyane, we might find a way around it."

The words died as they both got lost in their thoughts.

"Sandor?" He glanced over at her. "Thanks."

He didn't say anything for a heartbeat or two. "All part of the service, Little Bird."


	11. Chapter 10

A/N: Sorry for the delay in getting this out. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Chapter 10

"I should have known a slimy worm like you would be helping Lannister," spat Ned angrily, glaring through his swollen eye at Petyr Baelish. "Scum attracts scum."

Petyr sat on a chair by the door of Ned's cell, legs casually crossed as if he was sharing a drink with a friend at a bar, his thin lips smirking cynically as he looked at the man who had married the woman he'd always wanted. A man who didn't deserve someone like Catelyn Tully. A man who spent most of his married life searching for a treasure, not appreciating the treasure he had at home.

If Cat had married him, her childhood friend and the man who had loved her forever, she would never have suffered the neglect she had endured with Ned Stark. No, he would have lavished her with attention and affection every day of his life. Not chased all over the place for some ancient relic, valuable as it is.

"Maybe so, Stark," he drawled, "but I'm the one sitting here and you're the one in captivity."

"How much is Lannister paying you? Let me go and I'll double it."

Petyr burst out laughing with sarcastic amusement. "You really think this is about money?" He shook his head slowly. "That's just a side benefit. No, I'm after something far more valuable than that, Stark."

"What?"

"You still haven't figured it out, have you?" He uncrossed his legs and leant forward. "For a smart man, you are incredibly stupid. No, Stark. I'm after the greatest prize there is. Cat Tully. The woman who should have been mine all along if she hadn't been pressured into marrying you."

Ned reared up to attack the weasely little man, but the goons behind him stepped forward, one of them punching him in the gut, throwing Ned back onto the bed, winded from the blow. "She'd never have you, Baelish," he wheezed. "She didn't want you then, she won't want you now."

Petyr smirked, his moustache twitching like the rat he was. "I was just a poor, besotted boy back then. I couldn't compete with the might and wealth of the Starks but that's all changed. Now, I'm powerful in my own right and have more than enough money to keep her satisfied."

"You're a fucking Lannister stooge," spat Ned.

"You'd like to think so, wouldn't you?" came the smooth reply. "I have carefully cultivated my relationship with Tywin Lannister in order to get what I want. He relies on my social and political savvy and I have greatly profited from that." Petyr leant forward, as if it impart a secret. "Oh, and another thing…" He sighed theatrically at the lack of response. "Your beautiful daughter is here on Essos, looking for you, presumably." Ned's wan face grew even whiter at that news. "She has certainly grown into a stunner, and so successful too. I've often fantasised about what it would be like to have both mother and daughter…"

Ned roared in fury, struggling against his restraints until a blow to his head knocked him out. Petyr stood, gazing down at his enemy with disdain and brushing at his trousers, as if to get rid of the stench of this place.

He didn't know if Sansa Stark had the dagger with her but it didn't matter. He'd get his hands on her first and then the dagger if necessary. She couldn't hide forever – she knew her father's time was limited.

* * *

"What's this dagger look like, anyway?"

They were sitting around the campfire, Sansa jumping at every noise she heard, much to Sandor's amusement, as Sansa told him about her family and more specifically, her father. The tale of Ned Stark's obsession with finding this dagger intrigued him. He hadn't missed the masked bitterness in the Little Bird's voice as she spoke of all the times her father had been absent during her life.

"I've only got a drawing of it," she replied. "Obviously, there are no photos seeing as how it went missing so long ago. We found a sketch in my father's study that he must have drawn from descriptions he'd found during his search."

"Can I see it?"

Sansa shrugged and reached for her backpack, pulling a folded paper from her purse and handed it to him. "I assume it's an accurate representation. At least I hope it is so I'll know I've actually found the right thing."

Sandor unfolded the paper and stared down at the sketch. It certainly looked like something that could have been crafted by the smiths of Ancient Valyria. The stylised dragon-shaped guard turned it from a functional weapon to a ceremonial one, though Sandor had no doubt that the Valyrian blade would cut through all but stone. The pommel looked like an egg that was being kissed by flames. "What's that on the pommel?" At her blank look, he pointed to the egg-shape.

"Oh, according to what we found, it's some kind of stone. Ruby, maybe? I don't really know and we didn't have time to go through all Dad's things."

Sandor sucked in his breath. Ruby. It made sense. According to Sansa, this dagger had been given to her ancestor for his loyalty to the Targaryen king at the time. It would be priceless on the open market, and even more on the black market.

"What we did find was an account of how it was lost," continued Sansa, oblivious of Sandor's fascination with the dagger. "My ancestor, Eddard Stark, left Winterfell to become the Hand of the King, leaving his son, Robb, in charge. Unfortunately, Eddard was betrayed and killed by the new king and Robb called the banners and went to war against the Lannisters, the king's house. Eddard had a young hostage, Theon Greyjoy, whom he'd treated as another son, rather than a prisoner of war. Theon betrayed Robb Stark, attempting to take Winterfell and killing the two younger sons. He returned to the Iron Islands after stealing the dagger. It was subsequently taken to Essos by the Greyjoy armada where it was eventually lost. Until my father found it – or its location, anyway. I just wish he had made it easier to find."

"Probably for the best, Little Bird," murmured Sandor. "Judging by the thug who tried to take you, if it was easy to find, they'd do more than kidnap you and it's buying your father time."

"Yeah," she sighed. She looked about to say something but a yawn emerged instead, making her giggle self-consciously. "I think I'll try to get some sleep now."

"I'll bank the fire and settle down myself shortly," nodded Sandor, watching as she kicked off her shoes and slid into the sleeping bag, tossing and turning until she seemed to find a comfortable position. She had her pink bag underneath but it still was no mattress. "G'night Sandor," she murmured.

"Night, Little Bird."

The stress of the day must have taken it's toll on her, as Sansa fell asleep almost immediately.

Sandor watched the firelight flicker on her face, which looked even younger in sleep. He couldn't help wonder what her lips tasted like…or any part of her, for that matter.

For someone who'd never camped before, Sansa had been quite a trouper about the whole thing. She'd followed instructions and had offered to help where she could and hadn't complained too much about forgoing the luxuries – like toilets. Sandor chuckled to himself as he remembered the disgust on her pretty face when she realised how it worked out here.

Glancing down at the picture of the dagger still in his hands, the smile faded from his face.

Sandor was well-read in many subjects and he knew, even if Sansa didn't, just how much an item like that would be worth on the black market. Something that rare and old was virtually priceless.

Something that would allow him to purchase back his family's home, and even more.

Even with Sansa's fee, he still needed a little more to cover the asking price, which would require he stay on in Essos for a few more months at least.

If he had the dagger, he could name his price and get away from this gods-forsaken place straight away.

A log snapped, drawing his gaze back towards Sansa.

And what of her father?

Sandor had already gathered that she didn't care anything for the relic, other than as a way to get her father back.

Despite what other's thought of him, Sandor had always worked on his own set of principles. Could he steal the dagger? It would be something Gregor would do. Without any qualms. It went against the grain, and he'd feel as guilty as fuck, but it would also be his ticket out of here. He could even give back the money he didn't need. The dagger would be gone, but it would be some reparation, wouldn't it?

Sansa sighed in her sleep, and Sandor already felt guilty for his musings.

If he took the dagger, her father would most probably die.

What if he could save Ned Stark and somehow still keep the dagger for himself? Would that make Sansa hate him less than she inevitably would if he went through with it?

Ned would probably want to set the authorities onto him, but what could they do? It's not like Sandor broke into his house and stole the dagger. How could Stark prove it belonged to his family, and besides, it's been lost for so long that any statutes regarding ownership would have long passed. Treasure found belongs to the finder, at least on Essos. He wouldn't have a legal leg to stand on if he tried to prosecute Sandor.

It would be more a moral issue than a legal one. And it would be Sansa's word against his as to who actually found it.

Sandor didn't owe the Starks anything. He'd only met Sansa days ago. They weren't friends. She was technically his employer. Nothing more. Despite the overwhelming attraction he felt for the girl.

Nothing would ever happen between them, anyway. Sure, she could ogle his body, but she wouldn't want him. She'd spent most of the journey so far hating him, even if tonight had been peaceful.

He re-folded the picture and stepped over to put it back in her backpack. There was still a long way to go before they got to The Sorrows and even then, they still had to find the actual thing. He had time to decide what he was going to do.

Sandor kicked off his shoes and slid into his sleeping bag. He closed his eyes but found he had too many things racing around in his mind to sleep. Normally, when this happened, he grabbed a book to read but he didn't have…

Reaching for his pack, he rummaged through it, as quietly as possible, and found Sansa's book. He also found the small torch he always carried and scrunched down in his bag, so that neither the book nor torch were visible. It would be too humiliating to have Sansa wake up and find him reading her novel.

Flicking on the torch, he snorted to himself as he read the blurb of 'Florian's Defeat' again. Well, it should be so mind-numbingly sappy that he'd probably fall asleep before finishing the first chapter…

* * *

The scurrying of feet nearby woke Sansa from her sleep.

Heart thumping, she opened one eye, imagining some huge, wild beast was getting ready to pounce and devour her. Instead, it was just dark. All she could see was the shadows of the trees and the distant stars. Lifting her head, she saw that the fire had burned itself down to embers, giving out only a little heat but no light at all.

Turning, she could just make out the shape of Sandor's sleeping bag about two metres away.

She tried peering at her watch to make out the time, but she couldn't see a thing. It looked dark enough that dawn was still a few hours away.

Of course, having woken up, the first thing her body demanded was that she go and pee. Though annoying, at home she'd go to the toilet and go back to sleep.

Out here, though…

Sansa wiggled about and closed her eyes, willing herself to go back to sleep and not think about her bladder or the creatures that crawled in the night.

She was at that hazy stage between being awake and asleep when she heard rustling nearby and sat up abruptly, breathing hitched with fear.

What was that? What if whatever it was decided to crawl into her sleeping bag? Or just eat her whole, like a burrito? An owl hooted and Sansa couldn't help the small squeak that left her throat. All thoughts of the toilet fled in her fright, so there was that.

She heard Sandor move but he didn't wake.

Why didn't he wake up? What if she got attacked by some animal? Sansa couldn't help resenting him, despite how illogical it was.

Suddenly, the space between them seemed like a gulf. How could he save her from that far away? It didn't matter that she had initially felt relief that he had placed his sleeping bag at a distance.

Crawling out of the bag, jumping at every little sound, Sansa slowly moved her bedding closer to Sandor, leaving only a small gap between them. In the dimness, she could just make out the top of Sandor's head.

Once back in her bag, she turned so that her back was to Sandor though she felt stupidly aware of how close they were now. It was almost like sleeping in the same bed, though there were two layers of sleeping bags between them.

Sansa wondered what Sandor would think when he woke up to find her so close and decided that she would wake up early and move her bedding back to her original spot before he realised what she'd done.

Satisfied that she could sleep now, despite her body wanting to answer the call of nature, she closed her eyes and drifted off, not even realising that she had wriggled even closer to Sandor.

* * *

The twittering of birds roused Sansa this time but it was daylight and she felt absurdly comfortable and warm, considering she was sleeping on the ground, out in the wild.

She was drifting back to sleep when she felt a puff of warm air against the back of her neck. At that same instant, she became conscious of a heavy weight lying across her waist.

Her eyes sprang open and she looked down, confirming the presence of a large, hairy arm and hand gripping the material of her sleeping bag.

Sandor!

Somehow, during the night, he had rolled over and unconsciously snuggled into her.

Gods, this was so awkward!

Lying still, barely daring to breathe, Sansa tried to ascertain if he was awake. Surely, he would have removed his arm if he was? She listened intently to his breathing, noting the even cadence. She couldn't help the small shiver that passed through her as she felt his warm breath on her nape. If he was awake, he wasn't letting on.

She became aware of the presence of his body lying flush alongside hers. Even with two sleeping bags, plus their clothing, she could swear she could feel the heat of him.

Sansa could feel the slight chill in the air on her exposed face, but the rest of her was toasty warm, and for a moment let herself enjoy the feeling before she came to her senses.

Sandor was literally spooning her!

She had to get out of her sleeping bag without waking him. Which was going to be easier said than done.

Inch by agonising inch, she unzipped her bag slowly, as far as his hand was. Now she had to somehow wriggle her way out, as if emerging from a cocoon.

Unfortunately, her first movement caused Sandor to stir and his arm tightened around her even further.

Damn!

To compound her problem, her body was now reminding her that she hadn't answered the call of nature earlier and if she didn't do something about it rather urgently, she would be sorry.

Using one hand to hold up his arm from inside the sleeping bag, Sansa began shimmying her way out. Despite it only being his arm, it was still outrageously heavy and she'd only gotten a short way out when she dropped it causing it to fall onto her hip with a thud.

A loud snort from behind and that arm suddenly reaching for her neck, signalled that her tactics had failed.

Sandor's hand covered her mouth and jaw as she let out a squeak of terror.

"What the fu…?"

The hand was withdrawn at the same time as he hastily sat up, groaning.

Sansa took the opportunity to scramble out of the sleeping bag, heart pounding.

Sandor looked at her, realising what had happened. "Shit! Sorry, Little Bird. I didn't mean to scare you. Reflex action."

"Y-yes, I know," she replied. "I, um, I need to…you know," she mumbled as she gestured to the trees.

"Sure, sure," he muttered, looking away.

When she returned, she noticed that Sandor had rolled up the bags and had stoked the fire for breakfast.

Sandor looked at her neck before looking hastily away. "Did I…did I hurt you?"

"No. It's okay. I should have just woken you."

"What were you doing there? Your bag was over there when you went to sleep," he asked, puzzled, pointing to her original sleeping spot.

Sansa couldn't hide the blush that suffused her face. "I…I heard…things…in the night. I got scared."

She could see him trying to suppress the smirk. "So you decided to snuggle up to me?"

"No! I just thought it would be safer if we…if we were…closer. Just in case. _You're_ the one who was snuggling into _me_!"

Sandor couldn't stop the burst of laughter that erupted. "You're welcome to snuggle with me anytime you want, Little Bird."

"Oh! You're impossible!"

That set him off again. Sansa just huffed and decided to ignore him.

He finally stopped laughing, just the odd chuckle emerging. "Seriously, though, it probably is a good idea to sleep closer, ' _just in case'_." He grinned at her dark look before getting serious again. "I _am_ sorry about this morning. I've spent so many years having to be on guard, that it's just instinctual now. I didn't expect you to be there."

Sansa looked at him, a touch of sympathy in her eyes. "I realised that as soon as it happened."

Sandor suddenly looked uncomfortable with the conversation and abruptly switched topics. "Let's have some breakfast and get going?"

For the first time since they'd met, Sansa found herself curious about Sandor, the man. There was obviously much more to him than just a mercenary soldier.

Maybe she would find the courage to seek some answers before they went their own ways again.

"Good idea," she replied, wondering what today would bring.


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: Finally! It's here! A new chapter!**

 **I'm so sorry this took so long to get up. I suffered a bad dose of Sansa's malaise and lost all motivation. Then I wavered back and forth on this chapter - am I going too fast, am I going too slow... Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

Chapter 11

"I'm going to use the main road today," informed Sandor as he started the truck.

"But didn't you say that was dangerous? That they'll probably be watching the road?" came the startled reply.

"Yeah, but travelling cross-country like this is going to slow us down too much. And I'll have to stop to refuel at some point. I'm going to drive without stopping as much as possible. I want you to help keep an eye out for any signs that we're being followed." He watched her bite her lip and he was reminded of this morning. Too bad he'd been asleep for the best part. "Don't worry, Little Bird. I won't let anyone hurt you." Sansa just nodded and held on as he made his way back to the main road north.

Sandor figured he had enough fuel to get to Selhorys, the next largish town they'd pass. It would be late afternoon by then so hopefully they would be able to enter and leave without being noticed by any prying eyes.

As he drove, he saw Sansa giving him sideways glances from the corner of her eyes, as if she were trying to work him out. He snorted internally. There wasn't much to work out. He basically hated the world and it hated him. Puzzle solved.

His mind went back to the night before. He'd managed to get nearly a quarter of the way through her book. It was…surprisingly good. Yes, it was a romance at the heart of it, but Sansa had woven an intriguing tale that harked back to ancient times, with its toils and tribulations. He'd found himself very involved in the story until the events of the day took their toll and he began nodding off. Dreading the thought that the book could accidentally be revealed, he'd made sure to return it to the bottom of his backpack before going to sleep. With any luck, he might be able to continue reading it tonight after Sansa fell asleep.

Sandor found himself wanting to discuss the book but there was no way he could do that without admitting that he'd read her 'stupid romance'. He'd sooner be eaten by a dragon than do that.

His mind then turned to waking up to her squeal of fear and his hand around her neck, still feeling burning shame for that, despite doing it unconsciously. He stole a surreptitious glance at her neck, visible in a v-necked t-shirt and heaved an invisible sigh of relief when he didn't see any tell-tale marks left by his hands. He'd seen enough battered women, and men, to know what to look for.

Sandor hadn't been lying when he said that it was an automatic reflex action. Many of the mercenaries he'd worked with had been little more than scum, ready to slit a fellow soldier's neck and steal his things at a moment's notice. He'd learned to sleep like a cat, ready to spring at the first sign of a threat.

They were going to spend at least a few more nights in each other's company, and from her comments, she wanted to sleep closer to him, so he'd consciously have to curb that instinctive behaviour. He didn't know if he could live with himself if he physically hurt her, even without intent.

That thought led to the prospect of Sansa sleeping with him. Or rather, next to him. Unbeknownst to him previously, it seemed he was a cuddler. Sandor had never actually slept with a woman, always leaving immediately after sex, so that aspect of his character had never come to light before. Who knew?

And as he was asleep at the time, he couldn't be blamed for wrapping himself around the Little Bird, could he?

He couldn't help regretting the layers of material that would separate their bodies, though.

Unsurprisingly, Sansa was musing on the morning's events as well. Unlike Sandor, though, she had a very clear memory of how it felt to be pressed up against him, sleeping bags notwithstanding.

Now that her horror and mortification had passed – to some degree – she couldn't help dwelling on how _good_ it had felt. For those brief moments she had felt so protected, his burly body providing a buffer between her and the world beyond. She imagined that's how Jonquil felt when wrapped up in Florian's arms and immediately shook the thought away.

Sandor was _not_ like Florian. He was curt and uncouth. Sarcastic and bad-tempered. A big, brute of a man. She doubted he had a chivalrous bone in his body. And he certainly wasn't handsome and knightly. No, absolutely _nothing_ like her Florian.

And yet, she felt so _safe_ with him. Despite the knowledge that there were people out to get her; that she didn't know how she would save her father. She just knew that he would look after her, as promised.

He had already proven that he could, back in Sar Mell.

Sansa found herself becoming intensely curious about Sandor Clegane. She mentally tallied up what she knew about him: he'd been a mercenary for many years; had been a regular soldier until he was dishonourably discharged; knew Essos very well and could fight. Other than that, nothing. Oh, and he was very well read – a seeming anomaly to what one would expect about him.

"Where are you from in Westeros?" she blurted out without thinking.

Sandor turned his head, his one eyebrow rising in amusement. Just as she thought he wasn't going to answer, he surprised her.

"I'm from the Westerlands, a couple of hours out of Lannisport."

She nodded. "I thought I detected a slight accent. And do your family still live there?"

"What? Now that we've slept together we're going to play '20 questions'?" he mocked.

"We did NOT sleep together! I thought we were past this, but obviously not," she huffed angrily, turning away from him so she didn't see the regret flicker over his face.

A hand reached out and touched her shoulder, sending another burst of sensation through her but she turned back anyway. "I'm sorry. I'm an arse, I know." He smirked at her silent agreement. "I'm not used to anyone being interested in my life other than what kind of soldier I am."

Sansa softened a little at his tone. "Sounds lonely."

Sandor turned back to the road and shrugged. "I'm used to it." He didn't want to see the look of pity that was probably on her face so he kept talking. "To answer your question, no, I don't have any family left."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she replied, not being able to imagine not having any family at all.

Sandor shrugged. "I haven't had family for years, so it's not something I dwell on."

"What happened to them?"

She watched as his hands tightened on the wheel. It was obviously a sore point and she wished she hadn't asked but he answered anyway. "My mother died when I was a kid and my father just before I joined the army."

"What about your brother? You mentioned him before."

"My brother," he snorted cynically. "My dear, departed monster of a brother. He ran with the worst gangs in Westeros, murdered a shitload of people, raped women as a hobby and finally met his end when he'd pissed enough underworld figures off that they took out a hit on him. Good riddance. He would have fit right in with the mob that took your father. Luckily for him, Gregor's dead or I'd advise you to go home and plan the funeral."

Sansa was horrified. If she wasn't trying to save her father, she'd think he was quoting some movie or book plot. "I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for, Little Bird?" he retorted. "I'm not. I'm glad he's gone."

His tone indicated that the topic of his brother was closed for now, so she changed tack. "Do you ever want to go back? To Westeros. To your home town."

"That's why I'm here, isn't it? Plan to get the family home back and your money helps."

"Oh! What happened to your home?" At his look, she realised. "Your brother again?"

Sandor nodded. "Pretty much all the shit's that happened in my life stems back to him. He inherited the estate, which is small-fry compared to your family's, I imagine, and gambled it away, after he'd sold anything of value from it. It's currently unused and the owner's willing to sell. Just have to get the money."

Sansa couldn't imagine losing her family's home, her heritage, like that. He'd lost everything else so getting that one thing back must be incredibly important to him. "I hope you succeed, Sandor. If the money I'm paying helps towards that, then I'm glad."

A strange look passed over his face but was gone before she could determine what it meant. Sandor just nodded in acknowledgement of her words and a surprisingly comfortable silence descended over them both.

As he'd explained, Sandor drove as fast as he possibly could without drawing too much attention to themselves, keeping an eye on the rear-view mirror to ensure they weren't being followed. There weren't many vehicles on the road, most being transport trucks, which he could easily outrun if required.

Nearly three hours later they were nearing another small town and the tension increased.

"That's Valysar," he pointed out. "We'll take a quick rest-stop and keep going, unless it doesn't look safe."

"Thanks. I really need it," replied a relieved Sansa.

"Be as quick as you can. I don't want to attract attention," he warned. Sansa nodded and scanned their surroundings, Sandor's tension seeping into her.

The town looked like the standard small town everywhere: a single main road with a number of smaller roads branching off it and a main square near the centre. There were a few people milling about but no-one seemed to pay much attention to them.

Sandor drove through until they came to the single garage in town. "They've got a reasonably clean public bathroom you can use. I'll just grab a couple of things while you…do what you need to do. Just be quick."

As soon as he pulled up, Sansa jumped out practically sprinted to the bathroom, which to her relief, was clean, as Sandor had predicted. Mindful of his words, she wasted no time and it might have only been minutes later that she emerged, expecting to see Sandor waiting in the truck for her.

Instead, around the corner of the building, Sandor was holding an unkempt man up against the wall by his neck, while a weeping woman was picking up the scattered contents of her bag.

Sansa's eyes widened in shock. What was going on here? A quick look at the woman showed that she had a split lip and was wiping it with the sleeve of her long robe, tears seeping from her eyes. Sansa ran to the woman, pulling out the tissues she had in her bag, whilst keeping an eye on Sandor.

"Think it's funny picking on a defenceless woman, do you?" he snarled at the terrified man, who was trying to release Sandor's hands, his feet practically off the floor. "Think you're so tough hitting someone weaker? Do you?" The man was practically whimpering, face red as he tried to gasp air. "You're a fucking coward, you are. Look at you, practically crying like a baby, you piece of shit. Not so tough now, are you? How about I show you how it feels to be the victim of someone tougher and bigger than you, huh?"

"No, no, please. Sorry," the man gasped.

Sandor's grin was terrifying. "You will be."

Sansa stooped to help the woman get her things, handing her a few clean tissues. The woman smiled a little in gratitude. "You okay? Can we call someone?"

She shook her head vehemently. In halting Common tongue, she declared herself well and would go straight home. Sansa offered to give her a lift but she refused. She just wanted to get out of there, so as soon as she had her things, she scurried off.

"Sandor?" Sansa asked hesitantly, seeing as he still had the man pinned.

"Go back to the truck, Little Bird," he growled. When Sansa wavered, he turned to her. "Go!"

His tone of voice didn't warrant arguing with so she sprinted back to the truck, her hands shaking a little. It was supposed to be just a quick stop. What the hells happened?

No more than a couple of minutes later, Sandor appeared around the corner, rubbing the reddened knuckles of his right hand. Without a word, he started the truck and drove back onto the main road.

His face was like thunder so Sansa wisely said nothing but she was intensely curious about what had happened to that man.

After about fifteen minutes she ventured a tentative, "well, so much for not attracting attention."

To her relief, Sandor's lip lifted in the slightest of grins. "Nothing's been simple since I met you, Little Bird. Shouldn't have expected any different this time."

"What happened back there? Who were they?"

Sandor shrugged. "Haven't a clue. Heard a scuffle and cry and saw that fucker beating on the woman. He might have been trying to rob her or worse. Fucking hate it when men hit women, just because they're bigger. Bet he never expected someone like me to turn up," he smirked.

Sansa stared at him, realising he'd just revealed a little more about himself without even realising it. "What did you do to him?"

"Showed him what it felt like to be the victim of someone bigger and stronger than you. Might be he thinks twice before attacking another woman, but I doubt it," he replied. As he spoke he rubbed his knuckles, which were bleeding slightly.

"Oh, you need to treat those wounds," she exclaimed.

"They're fine. I've had much worse, Little Bird," he replied with a wry smile.

"Maybe, but I feel responsible this time. Just stop for a moment and let me disinfect them at least," she insisted.

He opened his mouth to argue but a look at her determined face had him pulling off the road and behind a copse of trees. "There's a First Aid kit in the glove box."

Sansa rummaged through the kit and pulled out the disinfectant as well as some plasters and cotton wool. "Here, give me your hand."

When she'd insisted on treating his cuts, Sansa hadn't realised it would involve touching and being close enough that she could feel his breath, reminding her once again of this morning.

Taking his burly hand in hers, she told herself she was just doing what she would do for anyone. _It's just like patching up Bran or Rickon_ , she told herself, trying to ignore the way her heart sped up as she felt his eyes on her.

Under the auspices of cleaning the wounds, Sansa studied his hand. Unsurprisingly, it dwarfed her own and was covered in the faint scars and callouses of a life lived dangerously. It was a strong hand though, a hand that would inspire confidence. It could be capable of intense violence, as she'd seen, and she wondered if it was also capable of tenderness. She wondered how those calloused fingers would feel dragged gently over her skin…

"Ok, that should do it," she said gruffly, pulling herself away from the dangerous thoughts that were taking hold. Daring to look at him, she felt a rush of sensation race through her at the expression in his intent gaze. Suddenly feeling as though she was struggling for breath, she let go of his hand and pretended to pack up the waste, his stare burning her skin.

The air inside the truck was so thick with an unknown tension that Sansa felt she could wade through it.

As if he realised the same thing, Sandor straightened up, clearing his throat noisily. "Uh, thanks. Feels better."

"No problem," she rasped.

Tidying up, Sansa could feel her heart pounding and her skin tingle in reaction to his nearness. She avoided his eyes, though she could feel their gaze on her until she looked up and he hastily turned to the steering wheel.

Without a word, Sandor drove away from the copse as Sansa's confused thoughts raced in her head.

Two days ago she absolutely loathed him and today she wanted his hands on her? What was going on here? Why was she suddenly feeling hot and bothered in his company? He wasn't even attractive.

From the corner of her eye, Sansa looked down at his legs, thigh muscles shifting as he worked the accelerator and clutch, his strong forearm in view as he changed gears. Her gaze shifted slowly upwards, until it unwittingly landed on his crotch. Without realising it, she began imagining what lay beneath the material, trying to make out his size from the bulge there, assuming, from the size of him, it would be impressive. Wondering how heavy he would feel in her hand…

With a strangled gasp, Sansa dragged her thoughts away from Sandor's crotch and looked out her window, praying that he couldn't see the tell-tale colour in her face and guess where her thoughts had strayed.

"You ok?"

Sansa nodded curtly but didn't turn to look at him. "I'm f-fine," she croaked. He seemed to take her answer at face value as he didn't say anything else, leaving her to her thoughts again.

Okay, so he's not really _unattractive_ , she admitted to herself. Not handsome like her cousin Jon or Jamie Lannister, but not ugly, even with the scars. She thought his eyes were striking and, despite it going against her usual type, his body was amazing. The image of a topless Sandor from the previous night rose in her mind and she felt a throb between her legs.

 _Oh gods!_ she thought. _I want him. I want Sandor Clegane!_ _How the hells did that happen?_

It was madness. This was neither the time nor the place to be thinking about sex, Sansa admonished herself. She was on a mission to save her father, not trying to get into the pants of the most difficult man she'd ever met. No matter that he had the body of the Warrior himself. No, it was just a passing phase, due to their proximity, nothing more. It could never be anything more than just sex, even if it did happen, she told herself. They were too unalike to be anything more.

And Sansa wanted more than just casual sex. She wanted what Florian and Jonquil had - true love.

Sandor Clegane was not the man to give her that.

"Why did you help that woman back there, when you don't want attention drawn to us?" In order to re-direct her thoughts, her question was the first thing to pop into her head. Sandor grunted and continued driving. Now Sansa really wanted to know the answer. "You tell me to rush and I come out and you're beating up a guy. Not exactly the way to stay incognito, I would have thought. So why?"

Sandor bit his lip, which Sansa found unreasonably sexy, for some reason, but continued to stare at him pointedly. As if realising she wasn't going to drop the subject, he huffed in annoyance.

"I hate seeing men rough up women. He had slapped her and looked like he was going to do worse. I didn't think about it – I just grabbed him."

Sansa nodded. "It was the right thing to do."

"Was it?" he glanced at her. "Who else saw it? Will the goons who've got your father know our exact whereabouts now? I should have left well enough alone."

"I'm glad you didn't. I wouldn't have taken you for a knight in somewhat tarnished armour," she joked lightly.

He snorted in derision. "Don't call me a fucking knight, Little Bird. It's the last thing I am." Silence reigned in the truck for several kilometres. "My father used to beat up my mother. It's probably what contributed to her death. He'd get drunk and blame all his troubles on her. He was a big man, she was only petite. She didn't stand a chance." His voice drifted off. "I tried to help her but I was too small, too weak. At least compared to him. She'd beg him not to hit me. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. If he didn't hit me, my fucking monster of a brother did. Chip of the ol' block, that one, but even worse. Wish he'd stopped at just hitting, to be honest."

Sansa didn't say a word, horrified by the images he was drawing with his words.

"Illness took her when I was nine. Never blamed her for leaving me with them but I don't know why she wouldn't leave him. Most like because of my… I was too young to know the full story and my dear old dad certainly didn't volunteer the information. Fucked up thing was that he really mourned her. Him – the one who made her life hell. He drank more and more until his liver failed. Can't say as I mourned him. When I see a woman being hit, it brings back all those memories and I just want to kill the cunt who's doing it. Could be it's my way of doing now what I couldn't do then - help my mother." He shrugged. "Might be."

Sansa sat in silence, trying unsuccessfully to comprehend the brutal nature of his childhood. She wanted to ask about his scars – if his father had been the one to cause them – but instinctively realised he'd already revealed more than he'd planned to. Digging further could backfire on her.

It certainly explained a lot, though. His actions back in the town, his choosing such a violent, ruthless career. The reason she felt safe with him, despite his appearance and manner.

"Don't you pity me, girl!" he ground out harshly.

There he was – the man she'd first met. Now, though, his tone didn't rile her up as it did then.

"I'm not pitying you," she denied. "I'm just trying to imagine how difficult it was for you and I think I understand you a little better, that's all."

Sandor snorted. "You don't want to imagine it. Be grateful your family was perfect."

"My family is far from perfect, Sandor. My father spent more time chasing his relic than he did with his family, my mother practically raised us on her own and I've had the usual issues with my siblings, but yes, compared with yours, they are great. I'm just sorry you had to go through it. No one deserves that."

She didn't say it, but she thought that under all the bluster and anger, Sandor was a good man. He'd probably done some bad things, but he was nothing like those who took her father.

Sandor just grunted and the subject was dropped, both lost in their thoughts.

For the next couple of hours, only the whirr of the vehicle's motor broke the silence.

Then.

"Fuck!"

"What?" The tone of his voice was not encouraging.

"We're being followed."


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N: I'm so sorry that it's taken me ages to add another chapter! Things at work (where I do a lot of my writing) have been mayhem. I have two chapters up my sleeve so I'm going to post the second one tomorrow.**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 12

" _We're being followed."_

Those words caused a frisson of fear to race along Sansa's spine. Twisting her body, she looked out the back window, spotting a lone car in the distance.

"How do you know? It could just be another traveller." Sansa's voice reflected the faint hope that this was the case.

"I've been slowing down and speeding up to see what they do, and they've copied me. If I was to turn off the main road, they'd sure as fuck follow us. No, Little Bird, it looks like my actions back in the village were noticed." He hit the steering wheel in frustration. "I'm an idiot."

"You still did the right thing," replied Sansa, looking back at their pursuers again. "What do we do now?"

"I'm going to try and outrun them, hopefully find a dirt track I can turn off on or even make Selhorys. It's a biggish town and it'd be easier to hide. Make sure you've got everything in case we have to make a run for it on foot."

Her eyes widened in horror. Run? Sansa kept herself fairly fit by walking around Maidenpool, but running? She hated it. "You're kidding?"

Sandor threw her a incredulous glance. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"But…but, if we had to run, where would we go? We're in the middle of nowhere."

He must have felt a twinge of sympathy as her face ashened at the thought. "I'll try my damnedest to lose them but you need to be prepared. These guys aren't going to care about what you want, Little Bird." He pointed to the glove box. "My gun's in there. Get it out, will you?"

Sansa's eyes widened in fear. "Gun?"

"Yes, I may need it."

Opening the compartment, Sansa reached in and gingerly grabbed the handgun, holding it with two fingers as if it were about to explode. "It won't bite," he teased. "Haven't you held one before?"

"Only my father's rifle, and it wasn't loaded at the time. Not much call for guns in Maidenpool," she retorted. "Here."

"It's got the safety on, so just hold on to it." Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he swore under his breath.

"What?" asked Sansa, looking out the back window and getting her answer. The vehicle was getting closer, despite Sandor's speed. "Can we outrun them?"

Sandor was about to answer but a sudden thump rocked the truck, sending it briefly off-course before he righted it again. "Fucking sons of bitches! They're shooting at us now."

Sansa felt the urge to scream in terror but reigned it in. Now was not the time to go into hysterics despite not seeing a way out of this if they were being shot at now. She'd never fired a gun in her life and Sandor was driving. The road was too straight to swerve off and hide and the vegetation was relatively sparse here, more long grasses and trees dotted around in clumps.

When the side mirror nearest her exploded, there was no stopping the cry that left her throat. That was too close. She clutched the gun in her lap, knuckles white with tension. As she closed her eyes, she felt the rough warmth of a calloused palm briefly press her hand, as if to give her a measure of comfort.

By the time her eyes opened, the hand was back on the steering wheel and she began to wonder if she'd imagined it, in her fear. Sandor's face didn't reveal anything, his eyes flicking between the road and their pursuers.

"Little Bird, I'm going to need you to take the wheel. Can you drive?"

Sansa nodded. "We learned on Dad's estate vehicles."

"Good."

"Where are you going to stop? They'll catch us in seconds."

"I'm not. We're going to swap positions as we go," he replied, glancing at her incredulous face. "We can do it. You'll slide over as I get into the tray through the back window."

"You're insane! We'll crash."

"It's the only way. I can't shoot while I'm driving and I can't see you doing it. If I don't, they will hit us. We don't have time to debate this."

She knew they had very few, if any, other options and nodded. "What do I do?"

"Brave Little Bird," he murmured before outlining his plan as quickly as possible.

Covering her head as instructed, Sansa crouched down as far as she could while Sandor shot out the back window. Bits of tempered glass fell over her but the majority landed in the tray. As quickly as possible, she used her backpack to punch out and clear out most of the remaining glass.

"Ready?"

"No, but let's do it anyway," she replied, adrenaline having kicked in by now.

Luckily the truck had a bench seat, as Sandor's plan would have been ten times harder in bucket seats. Reaching out her leg, she placed her foot next to Sandor's on the accelerator, grabbing the steering wheel at the same time.

"I'm going to count to three then you scoot over, keeping the truck as steady as you can while I climb out the back," instructed Sandor, one hand on the window rim, now minus glass.

"What if I lose control?"

"Try not to. Luckily the road's straight and wide enough for some movement. Just keep it off the rocky verge or we could slide." He briefly smiled at her determined expression. "Ready?"

She nodded tersely and on his mark, slid over as quickly as she could, gripping onto the wheel so tightly she thought her hand would bear the imprint of it for ever. Sandor had to slide up behind her and try to squeeze through the window frame, their bodies pressed closely together for a few moments of fumbling as they manoeuvred around each other whilst trying not to get themselves killed by crashing the truck at the speed they were going at.

Sansa's foot was jolted off the accelerator by Sandor's, throwing her off balance and jerking the steering wheel. Sandor was nearly thrown back but managed to steady himself and climb out, leaving enough room for Sansa to quickly slide into place and regain control, after a few hair-raising seconds.

"You okay?" she shouted, heart thumping as she glanced behind her, seeing only Sandor's back.

"Yeah. Just keep flooring it!"

Trying to keep the truck steady at speeds she'd never driven before was terrifying. Knowing that if she stopped, they'd be caught and would be captured or killed made it even worse. Gritting her teeth, she concentrated on that whilst flicking quick looks in the rear mirror to see what Sandor was doing and watching their pursuers get closer.

* * *

Sandor gripped the side of the tray as the vehicle swerved, trying not to get thrown out. At this speed he'd not stand much of a chance.

Sansa seemed to get it under control quickly and he silently gave her a nod of approval. The sheltered, rich, city girl had a lot more pluck than he'd given her credit for. She could have acted all missish but she'd done what he'd asked. Now he had to hope he could keep them both alive.

Hunched down amongst their supplies, grimacing as the broken tempered glass dug into his knees, he used a couple of boxes as ballast to steady himself as he took the safety off his gun, risking a quick glance at their pursuers.

To his dismay, they seemed to be getting closer.

"Faster, Sansa!" he yelled.

"I'm trying!" came the terse reply. "I've got my foot to the floor."

He was about to make a suggestion when a bullet pinged against the corner of the truck, followed quickly by another one on the rim of the back window, prompting a sharp cry from inside and the truck swerving again. Sandor swore as he was nearly thrown over the side.

"You okay? It didn't get you, did it?" he hollered as he righted himself and got into position.

There were many gods that were prayed to, both here and in Westeros, and he thought they were all a crock of shit, but he was sorely tempted to pray to _someone_ to get them out of this.

"No, I just got startled," came the shouted reply.

"Hunch down as much as you're able to. Make yourself a smaller target. Keep it steady, no matter what hits us. If we crash, we're done for!"

He didn't hear Sansa's reply as another bullet ricocheted off the bumper. Pissed off at the damage his beloved truck was sustaining because of these fuckers, Sandor aimed his gun as best he could and fired. He only had five bullets left so he had to make them count. Trying to reload whilst being tossed around in the tray would be nigh on impossible, not to mention the difficulty of rifling through his pack to get extra ammunition.

Luckily, marksmanship had been one of his skills, highly valued during his mercenary days. He'd managed almost impossible shots, though he'd been deadly still during those, not on a truck tray hurtling at ridiculous speeds.

The first shot glanced off the top of the chasing car, making him curse aloud. It did seem to startle the thugs as the car swerved briefly before continuing its pursuit.

"Did you get them?" yelled Sansa, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"Not yet. Keep going!"

His second shot hit the front of the car and he had the satisfaction of watching a plume of smoke appear in the front grille. Sandor hoped he'd caused some serious damage to the engine but the chase continued.

Crawling to the very back of the tray, he grabbed the metal with one hand and aimed the gun, but was stopped from firing when a couple of shots hit the truck, one extremely close to his head.

"Buggering fuckers!" he swore, even more determined to win this fight. Hunkering down as another couple of shots sounded, he then looked over and quickly aimed.

Without hesitating, he fired off a couple of quick rounds, one of which hit the windscreen, causing a gaping hole to appear and the car to veer sharply. He briefly wondered whether he'd hit the driver but pushed the thought away. He only had one bullet left and he was sure his truck had sustained damage as there was dark smoke coming out from behind it. If it was serious, they'd not travel much further.

Gritting his teeth, he aimed once more and fired. The bullet hit the tyre, which exploded in a loud bang, rubber bits flying up into the air.

At the speed the pursuers were travelling, the blow out of the tyre had a catastrophic effect on the car, causing it to launch itself into an uncontrolled roll; dirt, dust and bits of metal flying everywhere. Sandor watched the car roll at least six times before slamming into a rocky outcrop, smoke billowing from the wrecked vehicle.

He watched with a grim smile as the smoke got blacker, signalling a fire in the engine. If the fuckers were still alive, they'd have to scramble pretty quick or they'd end up as toast.

"You did it!" yelled Sansa, not slowing down any.

"Bloody lucky, that!" he yelled back, watching as the wreckage got smaller before an explosion lit it up. "Bastards are dead, with any luck."

He could feel the truck slowing down and took the chance to look over the back of the tray and as he suspected, there was smoke coming out from underneath, as well as an ominous trail of liquid.

"Fucking cunts!" If the thugs were still alive, he'd skin them alive.

"Sandor? The truck feels weird and I can smell petrol," called out Sansa. "What should I do?"

"Stop here but don't turn off the engine. It won't start again if you do. I'll take over."

He could almost see the relief in the girl's shoulders as she followed his instructions. As soon as the vehicle stopped, he jumped out over the side and pulled open the driver's door.

Sandor did not expect to be engulfed in a mess of limbs and warm female body. "I was so scared!" she murmured into his chest. "I thought I was going to crash and kill us at any moment."

Without even thinking, he wrapped his own arms around her shoulders and savoured the feel of her pressed close to his chest, the scent of her overwhelming his senses. Having the Little Bird this close was almost worth the damage to his truck. Almost.

Sandor could feel her heart thumping and her arms trembled as they clutched the back of his shirt. He had absolutely zero experience in comforting overwrought females - the few he'd saved from rape had certainly not wanted him touching them, despite their gratitude – so he wasn't quite sure what to do now.

"It's okay, Little Bird," he murmured gruffly, rubbing his hand on her shoulder in what he hoped was a soothing motion. "You did great. Couldn't have done better myself." It seemed to do the trick as her body appeared to relax a little and he was sure she pressed herself even closer to him. He was about to kiss the top of head before he stopped himself. That would probably be going too far. For her, at least.

They couldn't have been embracing for more than half a minute but it was enough for Sandor to feel his body begin to respond to having this gorgeous woman pressed chest-to-chest with him. He wanted to pull her even closer, until there was not a scrap of air between them, and preferably without clothes so that he could properly feel her soft breasts squashed against his skin.

"We'd better get moving," he rasped, pulling away as fast and as gently as he could, taking hold of her shoulders to stop himself from laying her back down on the seat and burying himself in her. "I think they've pierced the fuel tank but I don't want to stay out here in the open."

Sansa, looking somewhat flushed, nodded and bit her lip, making him groan internally. He made a quick show of bending down to inspect the truck, willing his inconvenient erection down before she noticed.

The Little Bird would most likely kill him – one way or another.

Taking a deep breath, he climbed back into the driver's seat, Sansa having scooted over to the other side.

"What are we going to do?" she asked as he gingerly moved off. It felt like one of the tyres was going flat and the smell of fuel was getting stronger. He quickly scanned the countryside for options.

"We're definitely leaking fuel and while I've got spare in the back, it won't do much good if there's a hole in the tank. I'm going off-road and will drive as far as we can get before the tank's empty. We definitely won't make it to Selhorys which means we're going to have to walk."

Sansa looked both horrified and resigned to the inevitable. "How long will that take?"

Sandor glanced at her. "How fast can you walk?"

There was silence for next while as they both absorbed the facts of their situation.

Sandor was somewhat familiar with the area and knew there were a number of fresh-water streams, giving them a drinking supply. He'd pack as much food as they could carry and he could also hunt, if he had to. They wouldn't starve, at any rate.

He was more worried about the human inhabitants. This part of Essos was a known haven for drug lords and other unsavoury characters, due to its remoteness. He'd have to be careful to avoid any compounds or settlements, as they would definitely not be on any travel guides.

After nearly twenty minutes, the fuel indicator began flashing. Sandor was surprised it had lasted this long. The terrain was woodier around here so he pulled up under a couple of tall, leafy trees just as the engine spluttered to halt.

"End of the road, Little Bird," murmured Sandor.

"Where are we?" came the nervous reply.

"About half way between Valysar and Selhorys, I figure."

"This is really going to slow us down," murmured Sansa, wringing her hands.

"Not much we can do about that, is there?"

"Would my phone work out here, do you think? I haven't called Mum and she's probably panicking. With good reason it turns out," she smiled wryly.

"I've got a satellite phone you can use. It's secure but don't talk to too long in order to save the battery.

Sansa released a gust of air. "I'll just tell her we're fine, and for her to let the kidnappers know I've been delayed but that we'll get the dagger. No point telling her the truth."

Sandor shook his head as he opened the door. "Pack as much as you can carry, food preferably. I'm going to look at the damage."

As feared, there was a bullet hole in the tank and Sandor didn't have anything he could use to plug it. The back tyre was flat and there were several bullet holes in the chassis, along with the smashed side mirror and broken window.

Most of it was fixable but not right now. He'd have to hope he could get back to it after all this was over and have it towed back to Volantis for repairs. He cursed the bastards once more for good measure, as he grabbed his pack and stuffed it with as much food as possible.

"Don't take anything that we have to use pans to cook," he told her. "We won't have any, so just packet food."

"What about the sleeping bags?"

"Here, I'll attach it to your pack," he replied, stepping close again so he could hook the bag to her pack. Once again, her lemony scent filled his senses. "When do you want to call your mother?"

"I'd better do it now. Who knows how long we'll be walking."

Sandor readied the phone and handed it to her, leaving her to talk without him hovering, not that he couldn't hear everything anyway.

Even from the other side of the truck he could hear her mother's loud voice and Sansa trying desperately to reassure her that everything was all right.

He wondered what it was like to have someone worry about him, care that he was safe and well. His mother had cared about him but it was so long ago, it was only a distant memory and feeling, nothing substantial. If Sandor had died today, there would be absolutely no-one to mourn him. To give a damn.

"You okay?"

Sansa's voice from right beside him tore him away from his melancholy introspection. No-one had given a damn for years. What difference did it make today? "Yeah, just working shit out." Even as he said it, he realised that it was the first time in forever that he had been asked that question. Ironic. "Ready?"

She nodded as she handed him the phone. "Mum's freaking out, as you'd expect, but I managed to keep this small detail from her," she chuckled wryly, sweeping her hand in an arc over the landscape.

Sandor smiled grimly and settled his pack on his shoulders. "Let's go. Stay close."

With a last rueful look at his truck, he turned and led them north.


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N: I promised another chapter and I delivered! Please make sure you read the previous chapter that I posted yesterday in case you missed it. The next won't be so quick because I've yet to start it :-). Thank you to everyone who's commented and welcomed me back. I really appreciate it.**

 **Hope you enjoy this one.**

* * *

Chapter 13

Petyr Baelish slammed the phone down so hard the glass screen instantly shattered. Looking at it in disgust, he threw it across the room, feeling a smidgeon of satisfaction as the phone smashed into a dozen pieces, as if it were the cause of all his troubles.

All those idiots had to do was get Sansa Stark. That's it. One job. Was that too much to ask? Obviously it was if the reports were anything to go by.

Instead of getting hold of the girl, one of his hired thugs was dead and the other was seriously hurt in hospital, with only a sixty percent chance of surviving. Petyr curled his lip. As a reward for the idiot's incompetence, he'd make sure the patient's chance of survival was zero. It wouldn't be hard. You could obtain anything in this gods-forsaken continent if the price was right.

In his rage, Petyr was tempted to dispose of Ned Stark right this moment but a thread of sense made its presence felt. Petyr's success had come from considering all angles and not allowing emotion to cloud his thinking. He'd spent many years learning to master himself, and any emotions were rarely on display, like now, and virtually never in the presence of others.

No, he wanted Ned Stark to see him, Petyr Baelish, take control of his precious Sansa. He wanted Ned to squirm in despair when he realised how helpless he was and how his daughter and later, his wife, would become Petyr's possessions.

He wouldn't get that satisfaction if Ned were dead. So, for now, until he got his hands on Sansa Stark, Ned would remain alive. Not unmarked – but alive.

Right now, he needed to find someone with an ounce of competence to find Sansa Stark.

* * *

"How're you doing?"

Sansa winced as the blister on her foot made it's presence felt, yet again. "Awful. Everything hurts."

"We'll walk 'till sunset and make camp," advised Sandor, seemingly unaffected by the three hour hike, carrying a backpack and sleeping bag, through bushland that now was looking more and more like jungle.

"Why can't we stop now?" She knew she was whining but she couldn't help it. A brisk walk along the shoreline of Maidenpool was much different to this…torture.

"Because we need to get as far as we can. You're the one who told me your father's kidnappers wouldn't wait forever. Or was that all bullshit?"

"No, it wasn't bullshit!" yelled Sansa, fed up. "I'm not super fit like you. I don't generally run marathons. My legs ache, my back hurts and I've a got a blister the size of melon on my heel. If I'm grumpy, well, I've got cause to be and don't you dare tell me otherwise!"

Sandor stopped and smirked at the red-faced girl. "I've got a first aid kit. Want me to look at your blister? I know they hurt like a bitch."

Sansa just nodded and flopped down where she was, hoping there weren't any creepy-crawlies underneath her. Silently, she pulled off her shoe and sock, wincing at the raw skin where the blister had burst.

"That's a big one," commented Sandor, as he unscrewed the antiseptic tube.

"No kidding," she retorted. She only got a deep-throated chuckle for her trouble.

"Here," a large hand took hold of her foot and placed it on his thigh in order to treat the injury.

Sansa's grumpiness fled instantly, replaced by breathless awareness of his nearness. She only had to move her foot a tiny amount and she could touch his crotch.

She hadn't managed to get the memory of how he felt against her after the car chase out of her head. It had been a spontaneous move, a reaction to the sheer relief of being alive. After the terrifying ride, Sansa had needed some human comfort.

What she hadn't expected was how warm and hard his chest was. How satisfying it felt to be pressed up against a wall of solid muscle. And when his arms wrapped around her, that same sensation of safety she'd felt when she woke up this morning returned two-fold. Sansa wanted nothing more in that moment than to bury herself into him, where nothing could hurt her.

That feeling of safety quickly morphed into desire. It was ridiculous how fast it happened. She counted herself lucky that she was still half-sitting in the seat or she probably would have done something stupid, like grind her hips to his. She'd breathed a tiny sigh of relief, and disappointment, when Sandor had pulled back and had been all business again.

Now, as long fingers of one hand held her ankle, that longing returned. Sansa dared a quick look at his face, but it was impassive, concentrating on his task. As if feeling her eyes on him, he looked up, catching her in the act. She blushed before yelping as the antiseptic stung.

"Sorry. I'll put a plaster on and it should be right. Do you have an extra pair of socks?" he asked, his raspy voice giving her goosebumps. She nodded. "Put it on, so you have two layers of protection. Might stop any more coming up."

"Yeah, ok." He applied the plaster and gently put her foot back down. Sansa must have imagined the slight caress as his hand withdrew and he stood up. "Thanks."

He nodded and took a drink from his bottle. "Let's go, Little Bird."

Resigned to the situation, Sansa stood up, testing her foot. "Feels better."

After resuming walking, Sansa felt compelled to apologise. "Sandor, I'm sorry I was angry. None of this is your fault. I'd probably, no, _I know_ , I'd be in their clutches if it weren't for you. I'm just tired."

Not expecting a response, she jumped when his big, beefy hand briefly squeezed her shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Little Bird. We'll camp and you can try to sleep as much as possible before we resume at dawn."

"Dawn?" she whispered in dismay.

Sandor chuckled and shook his head. "Oh, yeah. Forgot you don't do mornings." At her glare, the chuckle became a full-throated laugh.

"Shut up," she grumbled and kept walking. And to think she found him attractive!

* * *

True to his word, they'd stopped as the sun was setting over the tree canopy, which had thickened to a jungle-like forest now. It made the going tougher as they batted away branches and jumped over fallen logs.

Unlike the previous night, there was only a small space where they could comfortably lay down and make a fire.

They had worked together to clear away as many fallen branches as possible, laying their sleeping bags close together, out of necessity.

Remembering Sansa's request the previous night, Sandor patiently showed her how to make a fire. It was harder than it looked. After striking the flint for what seemed like a million times, ignoring Sandor's low laugh at her frustration, the tinder finally took, a small puff of smoke appearing. She whooped aloud when Sandor's soft blowing on the spark caused the tinder to explode into a small flame.

"I did it!" she crowed happily, grinning as she slowly and carefully added more wood until a small, but merry flame was burning.

"With a lot of help," he teased, earning himself a shove on the shoulder that barely moved him. "You did good. A bit more practice and I'll leave the campfire duties to you."

They ate dried food that night, not having any utensils with which to cook anything, and Sansa thought longingly on last night's meal. She'd thought it rustic then but compared to tonight's meal, it had been a virtual gastronomic marvel.

"I'd kill for a cup of tea," she sighed as she took a sip of water from her bottle.

"I'd kill for a mug of beer," he mused, staring into the fire.

"I'd kill for a lovely bowl of fruit, topped with cream."

"I'd kill for a huge, juicy steak."

"What I wouldn't do for a soft, moist lemon cake."

"What I wouldn't do for a bowl of hot, salty fries."

"Oh gods, yes. That sounds amazing," she groaned longingly at the image.

"A burger with the lot."

"Stop it, Sandor."

"A pizza with mounds of cheese."

"You are a horrible person," she moaned, practically salivating of that delicious food. "Just for that, I'm not going to share the burger and fries that will be the first thing I buy when we return to civilisation."

"Oh, you're a cruel Little Bird," he lamented.

They looked at each other and burst out laughing at their silliness.

Who would've thought that Sandor had a wicked sense of humour? Despite her aching tiredness and lack of tasty food, Sansa found herself not completely hating their situation.

She doubted she would have been in the same frame of mind if she'd been doing this with Harry. What was she thinking? That loser would never have the skills to survive out here. He was even more of a princess than Sansa was. He'd have been whining like a baby the whole time.

Let's face it, she thought, Harry would never have offered to help her. Bastard.

She looked at her companion from the corner of her eye. Sandor had more masculinity in his little toe than Harry had in his whole body. Why on earth had she thought Harry the height of masculine beauty? Was it because he seemed to encompass her ideal of her perfect knight, Florian?

Why, then, when she thought of her beloved character now, was he getting taller and brawnier in her mind? Why was he looking less polished, more rough around the edges but no less knightly?

Sansa shook her head. She was overtired. It must be that. Sure, she had the hots for Sandor, but that was no reason for her image of Florian to start blending alarmingly with the huge man beside her.

"I'm going to sleep," she announced abruptly. "I'm exhausted. I'll just…um…" she drifted off, still too self-conscious to say it aloud.

Sandor grunted in amusement. "Don't go far. I'll bank the fire."

She was careful to note her direction, keeping the fire in her sight, as the thickness of the trees would mean losing her way easily in the dark.

Sandor must have gone in the opposite direction, as he was settled in his sleeping bag when she returned. Toeing off her shoes, she shuffled into her own, vividly aware of how close he was.

Sansa quickly noted how much difference the extra padding last night had made. The ground was a lot harder, despite the fallen leaves and she hoped her exhaustion would allow her to sleep despite the discomfort.

Quickly mumbling a 'goodnight', Sansa turned on her side, facing away from him. Even so, she could still feel his presence behind her, despite the thick padding.

"G'night, Little Bird," came the murmured response. She could feel him moving around, trying to settle into a comfortable position. She was so tempted to turn her head and see if he was facing the same way but was too scared that he'd catch her in the act, so she just lay still.

Thinking that despite her tiredness, she'd lie awake, Sansa didn't even notice herself dropping off within moments.

She also didn't see how the large man behind her looked at her sleeping figure longingly for ages before, he too, fell asleep.

* * *

In a reverse of the previous morning, Sandor woke to find Sansa curled up against his back, her arm having snaked out of her sleeping bag during the night and resting over his chest.

It was barely dawn and even darker beneath the tree canopy, but Sandor's trained eyes could make out the shape of the vegetation.

And he could feel his usual morning erection become even harder when he realised how close she was. Fuck, but he'd been hard more often since he met her than he had in years.

He shifted his hips slightly, trying to ease the discomfort a little. Sleeping in his trousers didn't help. His movement must have disturbed her because she gave a soft moan and shifted even closer, material notwithstanding.

The sound made Sandor throb and he reached down, rubbing himself over his zipper. It didn't help. He wanted to take his cock out of his pants and get himself off, just to release the tension. Even more, he wanted to unzip their bags, tear off their clothes and make Sansa scream with pleasure as he fucked her hard. She'd be tight and wet, he imagined, rubbing the bulge between his legs. Fuck, she'd probably make _him_ scream.

Coming back from his fantasy, he realised that his movements were disturbing Sansa, who was beginning to stir. He was so aroused, there'd be no hiding it, so he abruptly unzipped his bag, uncaring if she was jolted awake, stood and made his way through the trees, only stopping when he thought he was out of earshot.

Quickly pulling his rigid cock from his trousers, he gave himself a few hard tugs, all that was needed before he came with a harsh groan, spilling over the forest floor. One hand on the tree, Sandor bent over, breathing heavily as he sought to regain control, his breathing ragged.

Fucking hells!

He had to get a grip. Acting like a hormonal teenage boy around Sansa was not an option. She was a smart woman. It wouldn't take her long to catch on to the effect she had on him and she'd probably be horrified. They still had a hell of a long way to go and he wasn't about to run into the jungle to jerk off every time she smiled at him.

Tucking himself back in, Sandor returned to their camp and did his best not to notice Sansa's dishevelled hair or cleavage as she tried to stoke the practically non-existent fire back to life.

"Morning," she greeted him raspily, sending shivers up his spine.

Not a great start to his resolution to stop being a horny hound around her. He grunted back, striding to his pack and grabbing a couple of energy bars. "No point, Little Bird. We're going shortly and don't need a fire," he replied to her unspoken question, handing her one of the bars.

"Okay." They ate in silence, both lost in their thoughts and wishing breakfast consisted of more than dry muesli. "I take it we continue north?"

Sandor nodded. "The forest gets thicker in this part of Essos so it won't be easy going."

Sansa grimaced. "Are you sure we can't find a homestead and ask for a ride?"

"Sure, if you want to stumble into some drug lord's compound," he replied dryly. "If we walk all day, we may only be a day or two from Selhorys. I can steal a vehicle there."

"Steal?" Sandor couldn't help grinning at her horrified expression.

"Our chances of buying one legally, and not attracting attention, is not great." Sansa still looked dubious. "Oh, all right! You can leave some money if it makes you feel better."

She nodded, seemingly satisfied with that compromise and he just shook his own head at her naiveté.

The day dragged on as they walked, the weather taking an ominous turn. Dark clouds became thicker, visible through the breaks in the canopy. Sandor sincerely hoped they wouldn't unload their burden, as he didn't relish walking in soaking rain. He'd had to do it too many times as a soldier and hated it. Wet, soggy clothes and boots, coupled with the shocking humidity that came with the inclement weather, made the whole experience hell. He doubted that Sansa had ever had to walk through a jungle in pouring rain.

"Those clouds are really ugly," pointed out Sansa behind him.

"Yeah. Hopefully they'll hold off."

No sooner had he uttered those words, than the heavens opened and it was as if a washing tub had been tipped over them. This is what he hated about this god-damned place. It couldn't just rain gently, falling softly on their bodies, allowing them to adjust. No, it went from nothing to downpour in five seconds flat. Even if shelter was available, the intensity of the rain meant that one was drenched regardless.

Coupled with the leaves that dripped torrents of water on them, it only took a minute before they were both completely sopping wet.

"Ahhh!" cried Sansa, unsuccessfully wiping water from her face, only to be covered again in the next instance.

"Come on, Little Bird," he shouted to be heard over the teeming rain. "We've got to find some sort of shelter!"

She nodded and followed him as quickly as she could, slipping every few steps on the slick foliage. Sandor reached out and took her hand when she nearly fell on her backside. The grateful smile was reward enough.

Talking was too difficult in these conditions, so they trudged miserably through the jungle in silence with only the occasional 'oomph' or 'agh'.

Nearly an hour later, both of them weighed down by sodden clothes and backpacks, Sandor spotted something metallic through the trees. He squinted to get a better look but the rain falling relentlessly into his eyes made it impossible. "There's something over there," he shouted, pointing.

Sansa, dripping hair falling over her face and looking half drowned brightened a little and he couldn't help a tiny grin. Even looking like an abandoned little fox, she was still adorable. "What is it?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"Don't know. Could be shelter, though. Let's go."

Drawing closer, it became apparent that it was a downed aircraft. By the looks of the greenery growing over it, it had been here for a few years. It was a decent size, not one of the tiny two-seaters, so Sandor figured there should be room inside the fuselage.

"Come on," he urged, pulling her behind him. There was a gaping hole at the front of the plane where it had hit the ground. It was big enough to squeeze through. "Wait here. I'll make sure it's safe."

The plane had obviously been a cargo plane as there were only a couple of seats at the front. The rest was filled with crates and hessian bags. It smelled mouldy but it was dry, only a few leaks letting in the rain.

"Is it ok to come in?" Sansa had half her body inside the plane.

"Yeah, looks safe. It's shelter, at any rate."

As she entered, she looked to the left and gave a scream. Thinking there might be a snake or worse in the plane with them, Sandor rushed over. He instantly saw what the problem was.

Seated in the pilot and co-pilot's seats, were the remains of the crew. The humidity had long since decomposed the bodies, so all that remained were the hunched over skeletons. Taking hold of Sansa, he gently led her away from the scene. "It's ok, Little Bird. They can't hurt you." He figured she'd never seen a real skeleton before, outside a museum.

"Oh, gods, it's awful. Those poor people. To die like that and not even be laid to rest properly. Their families will never know what happened to them. Do you think the authorities looked for the plane?"

Sandor shook his head. "They were probably on a drug-running mission. There'd be no record of this flight anywhere. It's common here."

"Drugs?"

"Told you we were in drug-lord territory. They often ferry drugs around by plane. It's quicker, safer and they can avoid detection easier. The planes are usually old, badly maintained and crash often. This would have been just written off as a loss and forgotten about."

"That's awful!" cried Sansa. "They were still people."

Sandor shrugged. "That's how it is. Let's see what they were carrying."

Walking further into the fuselage, Sandor opened one the bags and grimaced at the smell. "Weed, but it's rotten. Damned humidity. Could have done with a joint." He looked at Sansa and grinned. "Bet you've never smoked a joint, have you?"

Sansa sniffed, trying to look as dignified as a sodden squirrel could, and shook her head. "No, I haven't. Awful, filthy habit."

He laughed. "Thought so, Princess," he murmured, moving to a crate. The wood had deteriorated over the years and it was no problem to open one. "Bingo!"

"What is it?"

"We have something nearly as good as weed," he grinned, lifting out two bottles. "We have Dornish red. These will warm us up nicely, Little Bird."

* * *

A/N: Dornish red + two horny adults = shenanigans!


	15. Chapter 14

**A/N: Here's a little Christmas gift to you lovely readers. I hope you enjoy!**

 **Warning: smut alert ;-)**

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

The jack-hammers were determined to drill holes into her skull. No, not holes. Caverns. They were trying to excavate caverns in her brain. That was the only reasonable explanation for the excruciating throbbing her head was experiencing.

Sansa pried one eye open, quickly shutting it again. Why was someone shining a torch into her face? Trying again, she realised that it was just daylight but why did it have to be that bright?

With both eyes reluctantly open, head pounding, she tried taking stock of where she was and why she was in so much pain. Looking up, the curved, rusted ceiling of her shelter rang a faint bell but she couldn't quite work out what it was. Carefully, as even her eyeballs hurt, she looked around, observing rotting hessian sacks as well as wooden crates, some of which had been opened, a number of empty bottles scattered nearby.

Empty bottles. Wine. Red wine. Drinking said wine. Flashes of drinking straight from one of these bottles.

A faint snore from behind caused her to turn her head way too quickly and she nearly cried out from the stabbing sensation, lifting her hand to her head in order to ensure her brain didn't explode.

Two things became obvious at once: (a) she was naked and (b) she was sleeping next to Sandor who may or may not be equally naked.

Memories from the previous night rushed back like film on an old movie projector. Finding shelter in the downed plane. Dornish red. She and Sandor drinking the wine while waiting out the storm. Wrapping herself in hessian bags while drying out her soaked clothes. Staring at Sandor wrapped only in a hessian bag.

Kissing Sandor

Touching Sandor.

Wanting to ride him to oblivion.

Sandor touching her. Doing amazing things to her.

And then nothing.

Oh gods! Did she sleep with Sandor?

Ignoring the throbbing pain, Sansa began piecing together the events of the previous night…

* * *

"Dornish red?"

"Only nectar from the gods, Little Bird," grinned Sandor. Holding a dusty bottle up, he looked at it longingly. "Been a while since I tasted wine this good."

"I know what Dornish red is, I'm just not a big drinker," said Sansa, as a shiver ran through her, reminding them both that they were completely soaked.

"Well, we're stuck here until this rain lets up, so we may as well make the most of it. This storm looks like it's settled in for a good long while." He carefully put the bottle back in the crate. "We'd best get out of these clothes before we get sick." Sansa's eyes widened and he grinned. "You've got spares, don't you?"

"Of course," she replied, trying to dislodge images of a naked Sandor from her mind. Reaching into her backpack, she was dismayed to find that water had seeped in, making everything damp and wet. She scrambled to find her father's letter and map, relieved that they escaped much damage as they were right at the bottom. "It's all wet," she sighed, pulling out a spare t-shirt.

"Mine didn't fare much better," muttered Sandor. "No point putting on wet clothes. We can lay them over the crates and hope they dry a bit before we leave."

"I'm not walking around naked!" huffed Sansa. The look Sandor gave her made her internal temperature rise by at least five degrees.

"Pity," he murmured, smirking at her. Stomping over to one of the sacks, he ripped it open, dumping the contents out into the rain before returning to her. "It's not exactly silk, but it'll do. Just wrap it around you."

Sansa gingerly took hold of the bag, wincing internally at the scratchiness of the material. She'd probably be rubbed raw by morning, because that's how long she figured they be here. By the time the rain stopped, it would probably be getting dark and it made no sense to leave. "What about our sleeping bags? They're softer."

Sandor, in the meantime, had opened a few more sacks, tossing them her way. "You can if you want, but I want to lie on mine, rather than the bare floor, so you're not having it as well."

"Some gentleman," she sniffed. Sandor just chuckled before turning around and pulling off his sodden t-shirt. Sansa had all intentions of turning away, she really, really did, but dear gods, that body! Mesmerised by the play of muscles on his smooth back, she watched as he tried to rub off some of the moisture on his arms with a sack. He was so broad! Each movement he made delineated another set of well-built muscles.

Whether he was aware of her gawking or not, he took off his boots and socks, giving her a perfect view of his taut backside, lovingly encased in his wet trousers. Fingers itching to reach out and touch, Sansa gripped the rough material to stop herself. So lost in the view, it took her a moment to realise that he was opening his trousers, thumbs tucked into the waistband and was pulling them down.

The angel-Sansa on her right shoulder was telling her to look away and give the man some privacy but the much louder devil-Sansa on her left was telling her that this was a sight that few would be privileged to witness and she should make the most of it.

Devil-Sansa won the argument.

As if in slow-motion, his trousers and underwear were lowered revealing, inch by inch, the smooth globes of his backside (paler in colour than the rest of his skin) and the strong tree trunk-like thighs, amply covered by dark hair. Even the backs of his calves were delectable.

Sansa couldn't tear her gaze away. As he lifted one foot to pull off his clothes, she caught a glimpse of his heavy sac and penis, dangling impressively between his legs. Oh my! She could feel her temperature rising and her cheeks becoming fiery red as she stared at the evidence of exactly how well he filled out his pants.

It was only when he straightened and wrapped the sack cloth around his waist that Sansa snapped out of her stupor, horrified at herself. She quickly whipped around, hoping against hope that he hadn't noticed her ogling his body like some pervert.

* * *

Sandor found himself smirking as he watched Sansa struggling to get undressed underneath her sleeping bag, awkwardly gripping it with one hand whilst trying to pull off her wet clothes with the other. He knew how difficult it was but he couldn't help but enjoy the slight payback.

He knew she'd watched him undress. Those amazing blue eyes had almost burned a hole in his back. In fact, he'd deliberately slowed down his movements, allowing her to get a eyeful. He might be ugly, but he knew there was nothing wrong with his body. He didn't even need to bend over to take off his pants – but he did it anyway. The tiny gasp he heard from behind him told him she'd seen part of what he packed in his trousers. He'd quite happily let her get a closer look if she wanted.

When Sansa nearly toppled over he decided it was time to intervene.

"Here, let me hold the sleeping bag," he suggested.

"No! You'll see everything and what's the point of the bag then?" she replied, clutching the sleeping bag closer.

"For fuck's sake, I won't look, Little Bird." At her sceptical look he raised his hands. "I promise. I'll even hold it up near my eyes so I won't be able to see a thing." She gave him a slight nod and he just couldn't resist. "Unlike you," he murmured.

Sansa gasped and turned a shade of deep scarlet at the realisation she'd been caught. Sandor couldn't help chuckle at her look of mortification.

"Oh gods, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean…"

"Don't worry about it. You can ogle all you like." She flushed again but he didn't miss the flash of excitement in her eyes. "Come on then, before you get a chill, even in this heat."

True to his word, he didn't sneak so much as a tiny peek at Sansa. He didn't need to. To see her wrapped in nothing but a sack cloth, creamy breasts struggling to stay covered by the scratchy material and long, long, barely covered legs was enough to drive him to a bottle of wine, hastily taking a drink so that she wouldn't see his body's reaction to her own near nakedness.

To his relief, Sansa began spreading her wet clothes out, stopping every few moments to fight with the sack cloth that was in danger of falling off.

Sandor was silently hoping that the cloth would win. It was all he could do not to groan aloud when she leaned over her shirt, nearly exposing herself. He hoped those non-existent gods were taking note of his self-control.

"…can't build a fire, I suppose?" Her sweet voice tore him from his musings.

"Not if you don't want to be smoked like a salami," he chuckled at her moue of disappointment. He lifted a bottle of the wine. "This will have to do."

Sansa nodded and knelt down to spread out her sleeping bag, which was only slightly damp and was drying out quickly. "May as well make myself comfortable. Or as comfortable as this cloth will let me," she grumbled, scratching at her waist.

Laying his sleeping bag next to hers, Sandor rummaged through their packs to get some food. Some cheese would go great with the wine, he thought. Any decent food would go great with the wine, really.

"Here you go, Little Bird," he said, handing her another energy bar. "Your feast."

Sansa giggled as she took the bar. "What? No entrée?"

"No, but we've got dessert," he joked, lifting the bottle. "Here, take a drink."

Handing her one of the bottles, he grinned at her face when she took the first sip before taking one of his own. He then held out his bottle to hers.

"Here's to the rain stopping, surviving the walk and finding that damned dagger," he pronounced as they clinked the bottles together.

* * *

"… and he practically had a fit when he found out I'd used his hair gel to stick the note to his fridge!"

Sandor roared with laughter, taking a another swig of the Dornish red. "Sounds like a right wanker."

Sansa nodded a little unsteadily, giggling furiously. "Yep. He was. Harold was a wanker. A lying, cheating wa-wanker."

"How long did you go out this cock-sucker?"

"Oh, he'd never suck a cock!" gasped Sansa in fake horror. "He wouldn't even go down on _me_ " Her eyes widened drunkenly at what she'd just revealed, hand covering her mouth. "Oops! I didn't mean to tell you that," she grinned.

Through a wine-induced haze due to a lack of food and no lack of Dornish red, Sandor gaped at the Little Bird. "Are you fucking kidding me?" She shook her head. "What in the seven hells did you see in the dick-less wonder? What was wrong with him?"

Gods, if he had the chance, he'd feast on Sansa until she couldn't speak. His mouth watered at the thought.

"Oh, he had a dick – just ask his knocked-up piece on the sh-side." She scrunched her nose adorably. "Maybe _I_ was the piece on the side? Whatever. Just was shit at using it."

"I bet he was a useless pretty boy."

"Yup. Couldn't sh-start a fire if his arse was in flames. I think I only started going out with him because he reminded me of Florian."

"At least Florian could wield a sword and protect his woman," retorted Sandor as he took another drink. He looked down at the four empty bottles and was wondering how many were his so he missed the incredulous look on Sansa's face.

"How…how do you know that?" she asked suspiciously. "You'd never heard of my books before we met?" Sandor refused to meet her eyes so she crawled towards him, holding the sack with one hand. "Have you been reading my book?"

He moved as if to stand but she wasn't having any of it and practically threw herself into his lap.

"You did! You've read it. How? Where?" she laughed incredulously.

Sandor was prepared to walked back out into the rain to avoid having to admit the embarrassing truth, taking hold of her waist to lift her off but he made the fatal mistake of looking into her laughing blue eyes. Normally, he'd have more control but he was weakened by wine and a lap-full of Sansa.

Wrapping one hand behind her head, he pulled her towards him and took any further words right out her mouth by kissing her. Hard. He took advantage of her open lips to slide his tongue into her mouth, marvelling at the sweetness that pervaded even over the taste of the wine.

He felt Sansa's initial surprise, her body stiffening beneath his hand, before she seemed to melt into him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she sunk into the kiss.

At first, their lips rubbed together awkwardly, the wine affecting both their co-ordination, but like two magnets in close proximity, they quickly fused. Heat and lust raced through them as they kissed, tongues battling to taste the other.

Sandor pulled back slightly before taking her pouty upper lip between his and biting gently, his already swollen cock leaping in excitement at her little whimper of delight. Her hands had moved from his neck and were avidly roaming his torso, fingers tangling themselves in his chest hair.

Needing to taste more of her, Sandor released her mouth and licked his way to her neck, gently tugging her head back in order to gain better access. The taste of her skin made him ravenous for more, suckling and licking beneath her ear, moving down her collarbone and nibbling on it.

"Oh!" she moaned softly as he bit down on her shoulder. She had been wriggling on his lap, driving him to distraction as she kissed his neck and barely noticed when the sack she wore worked itself loose, pooling at her hips.

Sandor noticed. Especially when her pebbled nipples rubbed against his skin. "Fuck," he mumbled when he reached up and took her breasts in his hands, kneading the silky, soft skin.

"Mmm, that feels good," she breathed and pushed herself further into his hands. "You feel so good."

Kissing her deeply again, he pushed her back so she was lying on the sleeping bag. Releasing her lips, he sat up slightly and nearly came as he got his first good look at her body.

His lust and wine-hazed mind couldn't come up with any words that adequately described her. With something like reverence, he pulled away the sackcloth so that she was completely bared.

"Fuck me," he breathed as his gazed roamed over her. From her glorious red hair, her pale, full breasts with her pale pink nipples, down her smooth torso to a small patch of red hair between her legs, she was perfect. Way too perfect for the likes of him.

Just as doubt was beginning to make an unwelcome entrance, Sansa reached up and pulled him down to her, searching for his mouth again. Fuck any doubt! She wanted him, and though the stray thought that they were both too drunk to think rationally about having sex flitted through his mind, it was banished by the touch of her lips and her hand grabbing his sackcloth-covered arse.

Devouring her lips greedily, he ground his erection into her hip, seeking relief. He wanted to sink into her right then and there and pound at her until she screamed her pleasure but he also wanted to savour this, in case it never happened again.

Quickly deciding, he began working his way down her body, kissing and licking his way down her neck until he reached her breasts. Holding one in his hand, he flicked the nipple with his thumb before taking it into his mouth.

"Gods!" she cried out as he suckled on the nipple for several moments before lightly biting it whilst massaging its twin.

His hand trailed down her body, dipping into the hollows of her stomach and hips before moving to caress her creamy thighs. Either consciously or unconsciously, Sansa moved her leg, giving him full access to her. An invitation Sandor couldn't ignore.

Slowly, he ran his fingers up her inner thigh until he reached her core, tracing over her outer lips before lightly spreading them to caress her soaking cunt. He didn't know who moaned the loudest as he tenderly rubbed her, dipping a finger into her heat before finding her nub. She was so wet, his finger was soaked in seconds allowing him to slide easily over her.

Sansa's mouth was open, panting lightly as he caressed her and he couldn't resist taking it again. As their tongues duelled and his hand made her shiver, he didn't realise her own hand had done some exploring of its own until he nearly jerked off her when his throbbing cock was enveloped by her soft fingers.

She squeezed gently before tugging him, thumb brushing the wetness at his tip. Sandor groaned and buried his face in her neck as he revelled in her touch, dipping another finger into her in a simulation of what he was going to do shortly.

"So big," she murmured brokenly, and Sandor nearly came right then. No, he wasn't ready, even if his cock was.

Gently removing her hand, he kissed the slight pout of disappointment. "You've got me so worked up, Little Bird, I need to slow down a bit. I'm nowhere near ready to finish this."

Removing his hand from her cunt, he sucked on his fingers, tasting her as he watched her face. Her pupils were dilated with her lust, the blue nearly invisible. She was writhing a little, clearly needing relief.

Sitting up, he removed the sack so that his erection stood proudly before her, the tip red and weeping from excitement. Pride rose in him at the look absolute lust in Sansa's face as her eyes roamed over him before fixating on his cock. He took it in his hand and stroked a couple of times, enjoying the soft moan that erupted from her swollen lips.

"Sandor!" she pleaded, reaching for him. "Fuck me. Please!"

"I will, Little Bird. But first, I need to taste you."

He moved so that he lay between her splayed legs, entranced by the way her pretty, pink cunt glistened with her desire. She smelled better than any perfume or wine he'd ever encountered. Taking a deep breath, he leaned down and ran the tip of his tongue through her seam.

Sansa bucked up at the contact, whimpering with pleasure, so he held her down with one arm, the other hand opening her up for his mouth.

"So pretty, Little Bird," he murmured as he took another lick. "So delicious." He could hear her gasping breath as he finally dove in and began devouring her like she was the finest cuisine.

The next moments were filled with moans and gasps, accompanied by sucking and slurping noises that would have been considered obscene if both parties weren't so engrossed in what they were doing.

Sandor could sense she was getting closer, her movements and whimpers becoming more and more frantic and her skin prettily flushed. At this moment, nothing was more important to him than watching Sansa fall apart under his mouth, so he upped the ante by inserting two fingers into her while sucking on her nub.

"Oh gods, I'm…I'm… _ohhh!_ " she cried out sharply, her hands gripping Sandor's hair.

"Cum, Little Bird. I want to watch you," he growled before resuming his ministrations even more intently. He was so hard it hurt but he was determined to make her climax before fucking her.

It only took a few moments but Sansa tugged roughly on his hair as she cried out loudly, her body quaking as her orgasm hit her. Sandor continued suckling her, wanting to draw out every moment of her peak, drinking in the flood of juices, his beard liberally coated.

Slowly, he worked her down, softly lapping at her, one hand stroking her heaving torso gently as he felt her settle. Her hands released his hair and flopped down beside her bonelessly. Despite his desperate need to fuck her, he knew she needed a few moments to recover, inordinately pleased with himself to have one-upped that fucker, Harry. Giving her little thatch of hair an affectionate kiss, he lay his head on her stomach as he waited for a sign that she was ready to continue, his hand absently stroking his cock.

It wasn't until her breathing evened out but she hadn't made a single move that Sandor frowned in confusion. Slowly lifting his head, he wanted to both laugh and cry at what he saw.

The Little Bird had passed out.

The effects of her orgasm and the wine she'd had had taken its toll and Sansa was off sleeping the sleep of the supremely satisfied.

Sandor groaned, forehead pressed to Sansa's stomach. Fuck!

His cock throbbed as he got another whiff of Sansa's cum. He looked down at the swollen, weeping head. Just his luck.

Kneeling up, he grabbed the hessian sack as he stroked himself, looking at the Little Bird and licking the taste of her off his lips. It only took a few tugs before he erupted into the sack, though he would've loved to cum on her belly but he'd not do that without her permission.

He immediately felt better but he smiled ruefully at the lost opportunity to come inside the Little Bird. Sandor didn't know if he'd ever get another opportunity to have her but knew he'd never forget tonight and the taste and feel of her.

Cleaning himself up, he rearranged his sleeping bag, opening it right up and carefully moving Sansa onto it, though she was dead to the world. Lying down next to her, he covered them both with her sleeping bag before taking her in his arms. He kissed her forehead before closing his eyes and succumbing to sleep himself.

* * *

Sitting up, memories of how she'd felt with Sandor and the most intense orgasm she'd ever had making her flush and more, Sansa reached for the sack to cover her nakedness as she gathered her clothes.

Oh gods, she still couldn't remember if they had…if they had…

"'Morning, Little Bird," rumbled Sandor's throaty, sleep-filled voice, making her quake inside.

She was intending to return the greeting, she really was, but the only words that left her mouth were, "did we have sex last night?"

* * *

 **A/N: I wish you all a wonderful Christmas and New Year, whether you celebrate it or not. Stay safe, don't drink and drive and I'll see you in 2018!**


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